


Sebastian's Back

by loyalbloggerwhoshoots



Series: A Criminal and His Sniper - Together Again [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Assassins & Hitmen, Biting, Bloodplay, Drunkenness, Knifeplay, M/M, Nudity, Prostitution, Rape/Non-con References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-20
Updated: 2014-10-20
Packaged: 2017-11-16 16:57:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 28,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/541769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loyalbloggerwhoshoots/pseuds/loyalbloggerwhoshoots
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Jim Moriarty returned from the dead, Sebastian Moran was back where he'd begun, trying to forget by way of drink and copious amounts of sex as an escort at a SoHo gay bar. He took Jim back rather quickly, and they returned to their life of assassinations and crimes the likes of which the world hadn't seen, until one night, at gun point, Jim was given a choice: his life, or Sebastian's. Without hesitation, he chose his own, and Sebastian was killed. It was nearly a year after than before Sebastian Moran woke up in a dark hole, no idea of how he'd returned, nor how he was still alive, and with the memories of a reunion with Jim. So, eager to find his lover again, he set out to return to Jim, but their second reunion was less than satisfactory.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Reunion

Seb lay in bed, thinking about Eve. Thinking about Jim. Thinking about why this was so fucking difficult for him. Even after locking her away in his mind, she still came out of her box, torturing him. He groaned, and he didn’t know which of them had done this to him, and he rolled over and pressed down on himself, trying to relieve some of the pain. He ignored it until he forced himself to sleep.

The next morning, he got up late, and showered. He went down to the kitchen. He didn’t see Jim. He hoped he was okay. His mind was working over time, and he’d dreamed a really quite vivid dream in which he was shot, by Jim. He was dead, for a long while. Cold, dead, and in the ground. And then suddenly he was alive again, and going home, to a different house, in the country. And the most shocking part was Jim’s reaction to him, and the reunion they’d had, rough, and hot and amazing, and then… nothing. He recalled nothing past falling asleep with Jim in his arms. It was a torturous dream, and Jim was nowhere to be found in the house. He called for him, checked every room. The really strange part was that the house itself was empty. Like it hadn’t been lived in for a while, like someone had come and taken all but the furniture out while he’d been sleeping. He was severely confused. But he figured maybe if he went to the country house, he’d find an answer. So he finished the coffee he’d made while he was thinking, and threw the cup in the sink and grabbed his coat and walked out the door.

He wandered London for a while, pack on his back. He didn’t know if he should just go straight to the house, or if he should wait. He considered texting Jim, but didn’t know if he’d get it. Finally, he hailed a cab, and got in, giving the cabbie directions to the house in the country. After a while, the cab pulled up outside, and he paid the cabbie, and climbed out, and walked to the door. The door was locked, and he quickly picked the lock and let himself in.

Jim hadn’t been home in a while, to be honest. He’d given up things like sleep and food to plan plans, awful plans, plans that would’ve horrified even him. But right now? He didn’t care. He had no pleasure carrying them out. Ever since that one drunken night, losing Seb and nearly killing John, he had nothing. 

Although he still used John as an employee. John had been sent to kill a few, less important enemies that Jim had managed to acquire. There was no gentle teasing between them now. Jim would send him a one-word text message, containing only a last name, and a few days later he would find out that the man had been shot.

It worked.

Now, however, he did most of the killing, being ruthless and coldly efficient. Sometimes that included not eating or not sleeping. Jim didn’t really mind. He had grown leaner, the bags under his eyes becoming more pronounced. He looked like a corpse. 

Seb had entered his mind many times, but whenever he did, he almost immediately dropped it again. In fact, he had managed to convince himself that he never loved Seb. It helped. Quite a bit. Now he no longer would look at Seb’s number longingly, sending a few pleading text messages for him to come back. He would never go up into the attic and see the few things he had left behind and cry. Never wake up and find him, warm and sticky, sleeping next to him.

Checking his bag again, his lips pursed. He’d forgotten his pistol. Again. As well with the emotion loss, his memory was staring to fail him as well. He hired a cab, going back to his home. He fumbled with his keys, holding the heavy bag of torture equipment, before letting himself in.

Seb walked around the house, taking it all in. He went to his old room, and saw that it had all been cleaned out. There was not a single reminder that he had ever lived here. He looked around, and saw that Jim had let the place go. There were broken whiskey bottles on the ground, and bullet holes in his armchair. There were photos half burned on the ground, and he picked them up to look at them. He recognised Sherlock, and John… there was an unfamiliar man and woman. Mycroft was there, and then the last picture made him a little sad. It was of himself, shot in three places. The hand, the head, and the heart. He threw the photos in the cold fireplace.

He heard a car pull up the drive and an achingly familiar voice muttering to himself as he jangled his keys. Seb thought for a moment, trying to figure out what to do, and then swiftly walked to the kitchen and turned on the kettle. He had to do something… something. He swallowed and waited for the fallout.

Jim made his way in the house, cursing to himself quietly. The large bag was thrown in the chair, and the sound of metal upon metal clashed inside. He went to the mantel on top of the fireplace, reaching for his pistol that he always kept strapped there, before he noticed something.

The pictures.

He stood there for a moment. Normally, he would say he was in shock, but he wasn’t, really. Shock would mean that he was truly interested. No, Jim stood there, a little bit confused. He had been getting drunk quite a bit lately. It was entirely plausible that he had thrown the photos in the fireplace on a drunken rage. Still, he thought he would have burned them.

Placing the pistol in his holster, he gave a loud sigh and murmured to himself for a moment. He grabbed his bag, going through it. “Dammit!” He cursed loudly, gently reaching into the bag and pulling out a long, thin, broken needle. He tossed it into the fireplace, zipping the bag again and getting ready to go.

Jim walked into the main room, cursing to himself. Seb was amazing at the change he saw in him.. thinner, drawn, pale… he looked dead, which, considering that Seb was the one who’d apparently been dead, was quite ironic.

He watched him silently from the kitchen. When he noticed the photos, his reaction was strange. Seb almost stepped forward, but then Jim stepped away holding his mantel pistol. He took something out of his pack and threw it to the fireplace. Does he not see me? he thought to himself as Jim prepared to leave again.

Finally he stepped forward. “Jim.”

He had noticed someone there, but he didn’t think it was a threat. Besides, hallucinations had been common for him, recently. He chalked it up to a lack of sleep and a lack of nutrition. Probably being drunk half the time didn’t hurt. Slowly, he started the fire, watching all of the pictures burn before his eyes. It was strange. It was bordering on creepy.

As the man spoke, he took a side step and pointed his pistol at him firmly. The hallucinations had never spoken to them before. It was Seb. Not a flicker of emotion passed on his face, and inside, his thoughts weren’t doing much else. Seb might be back, but that didn’t matter. He felt nothing.

“Moran.” He said, putting his bag down, still holding the gun up.

Jim pointed the mantel pistol at him, and Seb thanked his good graces that he’d had the sense to reload that particular gun with blanks, just in case. But even so, Jim pointing a gun at him was hardly unusual. He’d been shot before by Jim. He’d even been shot fatally by him once. Guns and Jim were no longer a threat to him. Besides, he was safe, thus far. He felt the weight of his pistol in his back pocket.

“Jim, are we really going to play this game again?” Seb asked sardonically. He examined Jim’s face. There was no emotion. A far cry from his welcome before. Something must’ve happened, gone wrong… “Jim, it’s me, I’m home. What the hell is the matter with you, Boss?” Seb asked. He knew that in just a few steps, he could disarm and disable Jim. But he wouldn’t let on that he would even come any closer to him.

“Fine. Go ahead and shoot me, if you don’t believe me. You did it once, I might even survive this time.”

Jim fired the gun at him a few times, experimentally, seeming as if he hadn’t heard. Blanks. Still, his face didn’t change as he threw the gun onto the couch. “Game?” He asked quizzically, going over to his bag and searching through it. There was nothing. Damn. Not even a fucking knife. Although, he wondered, if he could truly hurt Moran before Moran hurt him.

Standing back up to face him, he shook his head. “Nothing is wrong, Mr. Moran. I assume by you calling me ‘Boss’ you’re still my employee. Excellent.” It seemed as if Jim wasn’t terribly paying attention, only catching note at ‘Boss’. “Seeing as how you’ve just gotten back, I assume I’ll be forced to make your living arrangements. There’s a flat in central London that would be suited to you.”

Seb didn’t even blink as the gun fired. He just watched Jim. “Yes, game. The one where you pretend not to care about me. What the fuck is going on with you?”

“Mr. Moran….. Jim, what the fucking hell?” Seb walked over to him in a few long strides and grabbed him by the shoulders. “Don’t you remember me? Or did that blow to the head really screw with you? Do I need to prove that it’s me or something?” Seb was never this open with anyone, but every event the past few days had screwed with him, apparently. Or with Jim. He didn’t even react to the living arrangements gag.

Daintily, he took Sebastian’s arms and pushed them off his shoulders. He dusted off his suit as he did so. “I can assure you it’s not a game, Mr. Moran, and it never was. I don’t care about you. I never did.” Bending back down to mess with his torture bag, he slung it over his shoulder again. The metal made an echoing sound.

“Oh, Mr. Moran,I do think you’re you. If not, it truly doesn’t matter. You can probably still shoot whether you’re really you or not, and frankly, that’s all I care about.” His eyes met Seb’s listlessly, his face never showing any emotion. Inwardly, however, he could feel his heart twinge. Just…just slightly. “Mr. Moran, you’ve never answered my question. Are you still under my employment?”

Seb’s heart hardened at the words from Jim Moriarty. Fucking liar…… why would you lie about that though? That’s not like you at all… unless you’ve lied the whole time we… Fucking Christ.

Seb stared at him, his eyes hard, and his heart harder. Fine, Jim wanted to play that game? He could play too. “Fuck you, you twat,” he said, turning to leave, but just as he was about to walk out the door, he turned to look at his boss, door still closed. “Why would I stay, when there’s nothing for me to stay for? The work was only so much of our partnership, Boss. If you’ve forgotten that, well… no wonder you shot me.”

Jim stood motionlessly, setting the bag on the couch. “You worked for me before, Mr. Moran. And you did it without having any prior feelings to me. Would you rather continue working for me and not having me lie to you about any ideas of a real relationship? You’re the best sniper in London, Mr. Moran. And you are still my employee, whether you like it or not.”

Walking over to the door, he stood in front of it. “I did what I did because I needed your abilities, Mr. Moran. Like I’ve said, you’re the best sniper in London. And I needed you to stay with me because I only hire the best.” He turned his head, staring blankly up at the taller man. “And when I shot you, it should have been evident I had no real feelings for you. If I couldn’t even sacrifice myself to save you.”

“That is absolute bullshit, and you know it, Jim,” he said coldly, staring down at the shorter man. The compliments bounced off him, the hurt was just too great.

“Go fuck yourself,” Seb said, before turning on his heel and walking out to the garden in the back. He couldn’t stay in the same place with that fucking bastard. He was killing him. He almost hoped he’d follow him, but he was nearly a hundred percent sure that it was over, whatever had been there, whatever he’d come back for, was gone. Completely gone. He may as well’ve just stayed dead.

Jim gave a sigh at the insults, going upstairs to steal his gun. He gave a check. The gun was loaded with actual bullets this time. Scampering down the stairs, he wondered if he could truly convince Moran to work for him again. Last time it was simply a professional relationship. Moran needed money. Desperately. Jim was there to give it to him if he worked for him.

Walking out into the garden, he saw the sniper still there, standing still. “Mr. Moran, I’m sorry if I gave you the idea that I was giving you a choice.” His voice was cold and cruel, a voice he had never given to Seb before. “You are working for me again, whether you would wish to or not.”

Seb kicked at the rose bushes, until they were no longer beautiful, and thorns were embedded in his trouser legs and in his boots. He was standing there when Jim walked back out, and knew by the way he walked that he was holding another gun pointed at Seb’s heart. Funny thing was, he remembered when they’d met, it being exactly like this. Except Seb was the coldhearted one, and Jim offered him anything to work for him, because of his skills as an assassin and trained sniper. He’d even faked a kidnapping to get Seb to come to him. And now…. Now Seb didn’t know what to do. He wished he was dead again. His heart had been used and abused by this one man far too many times. He listened to the voice of the world’s most dangerous man, and he laughed. Laughed in the face of death.

“I have a choice. I could just leave again,” Seb said, turning around to face the gun head on. “Or I could let you just kill me again,” he continued walking towards Jim’s gun slowly. “But I… Won’t. I’ll work for you, Jim Moriarty. But I won’t like it.” He reached for Jim’s gun and before he could pull the trigger, he had taken it from him and taken it apart in a matter of seconds. “I still don’t understand what happened. But I will find out,” he muttered to himself, walking back into the house.

Jim watched emotionlessly as Seb kicked his rose bushes. It was funny that they hadn’t died yet. He didn’t think he’d watered them…well, ever, actually. It had always been Seb’s job. Tilting his head, he noted how pathetic Seb was. His emotions were so painfully obvious, and it was painfully obvious what he wanted Jim to do. He wanted Jim to hug him, kiss him, cry over him, and tell him that he loved him. None of which Jim Moriarty planned to do. The safety was off on his gun and his finger on the trigger. It was clear that, should Seb say no to his offer, he would shoot. Immediately, shoot.

“If you aren’t working for me,” He said listlessly, seeing Seb take the gun from him. For one moment he thought Seb might shoot him, but seeing his tortured little face, he highly doubted it. “You might as well be dead. I would kill you, and I shall, if you ever think of leaving me again.” His voice was harsh. If he was another man, a more emotional one, that might have been taken as a gentle tease. No. Jim meant it with all the coldness he could muster. “I don’t care if you like it, Mr. Moran. I’m not in the habit of pleasing my employees.” Slowly, he shut the back door and followed the other man into the house.

“I thought you didn’t care, Boss,” Seb said sardonically as he walked through the house to get himself a strong drink. He poured himself a very tall glass, and offered it to Jim. But before Jim could take it, he chucked it at the fire. “Oh, so sorry Boss. That wasn’t your good stash, was it? Too bad.” He drank his drink quickly, before throwing the glass in the fire as well. “Now, since you don’t care for me in the house, I’ll assume I should find lodging elsewhere.” He didn’t care what he sounded like to Jim. He just needed to figure out what the plan was, and then get out and find someone who could tell him what the hell had happened. Jim was a mess, and Seb had been there for a long time to clean him up out of his messes. And the one time he wasn’t, Jim had fallen hard.

Jim gave a weary sigh, putting his hand to his head and collapsing on the couch for a moment. To be fair, he hadn’t really drunk from his ‘good’ stash. More like, he would stop at the liquor store and buy enough so that he knew he would get drunk. Taste didn’t terribly matter to him. As long as Seb continued to work for him, he didn’t mind how much of an asshole Seb was. Right now, at any rate. He’d have to beat some obedience into him. When he cared just a little bit more. 

“I said I would find you a flat, and I will. Hopefully it will be to your liking.” Jim murmured, pinching the bridge of his nose and looking up at Seb through half-closed lids. “It’s in Inner London, right next to Scotland Yard. It’s pre-furnished and covers all the essentials.” Reaching into the table beside him, he grabbed a key and tossed it over to him. “Go settle in. I’ll text you with your next assignment tomorrow.”

Seb rolled his eyes a little. Fucking dickwad. “Fine, sir, I hope you have a good night, sir,” he said, as he hoisted his pack on his back and walked out of the house, not looking behind him once. He was fucking exhausted and he just wanted to pass out for a good long while, and not have to think about Jim Fucking Moriarty anymore than he had to.

He caught the underground to Inner London, and walked the streets till dark, trying to exhaust himself. He stopped in at a little shop to pick up some essentials, small things, and a bite to eat, having not eaten anything all day. He finally made it to the austatious flat Jim had picked out for him, and he fought the temptation to rip everything apart with his butterfly knife. Instead, he went about his normal routine of going about the flat and hunting down the cameras that Moriarty planted. Force of habit. He left up the ones in the bedroom, cause he thought it would rile Jim just a little. After a long cold shower, he turned up the heat all the way and climbed into bed, and quickly fell asleep, and was tortured by dreams all night.

“You as well, Mr. Moran.” Jim said icily, watching as the man left his house. He stood there for a moment, putting his gun back together, before he went to go over to his liquor cabinet. Taking a few bottles, he went to watch the cameras he had installed in Sebastian’s flat, drinking all the while. He wouldn’t lie to himself, as the alcohol became more influential, and say that he was doing it out of professional interest. One by one, he watched the cameras be taken down until only the ones in his bedroom were left. Disgusted, he shut the computers down, drinking the rest of the alcohol.

There were several more gunshots and explosions throughout the night, but eventually Jim, sweating and bleeding, settled in bed. He hated sleeping, he truly did, but he wouldn’t go out again. Not tonight. Still, as he fell asleep, he felt every Seb-related nightmare come back to him at one point or another, and he writhed in his bed.


	2. In Which Life Goes On... Or Does It?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lifes goes on for Moriarty and Moran, but not all is back to normal.

Seb awoke slowly, muscles aching, and heart sore, on the ground for some reason. His sheets were tangled around him, and he was trying to figure out what had happened. And then he remembered the nightmare. Getting shot by Jim, with a crueler than usual grin on his face. Getting shot over and over, without dying. He swallows and sits up, and gets up, wrapped in just his sheet, to make coffee. He leaves his phone in his room. If Jim wants to get ahold of him, he’s going to make it difficult.

Mr. Moran, I have your first assignment. -JM

I expect you to answer your phone the first time. -JM

I am not visiting your flat personally, Mr. Moran, however much you wish me to. -JM

Don’t make me punish you, Mr. Moran. -JM

 

Jim was sitting in his bed, still sweating and his head pounding. All the lights were off, all the windows drawn, a cup of coffee by his bed. That was really all he lived on these days, alcohol and caffeine. It wasn’t a good combination, most of the time.

Taking a big sigh, he decided to suffer the pain an actual phone call would bring to his poor alcohol-wanting brain and dials Moran’s number, still saved in his phone.

He dials it again.

And again.

And again.

Seb finished his coffee, and then took a shower. A very long shower. Then he went to his nightstand and checked his phone. 7 text messages. 4 missed calls. He smiles. Good.

He dressed in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, and then dials Moriarty.

“Morning, Boss,” he said, putting the inflection on his nickname for Jim, when he thinks he’s being especially annoying. He knew Jim had never figured that little tidbit out. “Miss me?”

When Seb answered, Jim had already opened another bottle of alcohol. He knew he was going to have to get terribly drunk to force himself to deal with Seb the entire day. That, and for God’s sake, his head was killing him and alcohol always helped. That was why, when Jim answered the phone, his voice slurred slightly and he paused every few seconds to figure out his words.

God, he was using that tone again. Jim never really figured out when he used it, only that he used it quite a bit around him. It angered him incredibly and also made him want to kiss him. He shook his head. Those memories certainly wouldn’t help. “M-Moran.” He stumbled over his words, scratching his head. “I have an assignment for you.”

Jim was drunk. Seb looked at his incredibly expensive watch and double checked the time… 9 am. He’d started a bit early today. He shook his head. “Fine, you’ve got a job. Talk to me, Boss. Who needs to die?”

Seb was bored. And it was bad when he was bored. And with Jim being so… disinterested, he was going to need to find another outlet for his… energy.

“I want you to…” Jim closed his eyes tightly and laid back against his pillows for a moment, thinking of what exactly he wanted Seb to do. Everything was so fucking scattered when he was drunk. “Go to Trafalgar Square.” Finally, he remembered as he stumbled off towards the living room, taking off his suit jacket. “There’s going to be a man there, most likely dressed in a suit, and, fortunately for you, probably going to be wearing a fedora. That’s all you need to know.” Jim, in his groggy, drunken state, felt that this was something new. Before, he used to list the man in incredible detail, including his name and how exactly he had pissed Jim off. “We need to see if you still have the title of the best sniper in London, Mr. Moran.” Looking at the absolutely daunting stairs, he sat at the top step for a moment. “If you fail, I will rehire Dr. Watson and his first assignment shall be you.“ 

Slowly, he walked down the stairs, concentrating on not tripping. The marks and dents and even a few bloodstains on the wall showed of times when Jim had failed, when the alcohol and the tiredness and the apathy had been too much for him. He was aware that Seb was still on the phone, and he would be damned if the man hung up now. Three steps from the bottom, Jim’s stumbling feet finally missed the step and he fell, cracking his head against the wall and landing in a heap at the bottom. Dammit. He really should have moved downstairs before he had gotten drunk. “Do you understand your assignment, Mr. Moran?” Jim said thickly, putting one hand to the back of his head and scrounging about the first-aid closet for bandages.

Seb listened in silence. He’d enjoyed Jim’s rants about his targets before, though he didn’t need the descriptions. His threats didn’t scare him either. Dr. Watson was the least of his problems. In fact, he thought to himself, John might be the ideal person to talk to about what had happened to Jim. He made a mental note to hunt the good doctor down after this job.

Over the phone, he realised that Jim had stopped talking and was just muttering to himself. He imagined Jim drunkenly stumbling around the house, cursing at inanimate objects. He hear him fall and wince, and nearly asked if he was okay, but decided against it. If Jim could stop caring, so could Seb Moran. “Yes, Boss,” he said coldly into the phone. “Consider it done.” He closed the phone, and looked around for something to throw. He clenched his fist around his phone instead and went to dress.

A couple hours later, Seb was set up half a mile away from Trafalgar Square. He had easily spotted the man through his scope, and had him in his sights. All he was doing was waiting until the best moment. Quick, simple, no other blood spilled. It wasn’t nearly as fun without Jim watching him.

While Seb had spoken coldly to him, Jim found that he rather liked it. It was easier to behave the way he was when Seb acted coldly to him. Still, he thought to himself as he took out the bandages, it was damn hard to wrap a head injury alone. 

Several hours later, he was keeping a steady watch on the news, drugged up on painkillers, another bottle of alcohol by his side. It was pitiful. Incredibly pitiful. He kept turning his phone over and over in his hands, wondering whether to get fed up and call Seb or not. He was being slow, and Jim hated it when he was slow.

The news would report it just seconds after the man had died, but Jim still was on the fence about calling Seb to see if he had done it yet. While he was laying there languidly, feeling his thoughts slog along as if they were molasses, he realized he was muttering to himself. When had he picked up that trait? It was probably a sign of insanity.

Seb finally took the shot, and the man fell. He grunted smugly, and then started to pack up his gun. His phone buzzed, and he ignored it, knowing it was Jim. He didn’t want to talk to him right now. He had other business to take care of.

He finished packing his gun, and walked out of the building he was in, no one the wiser, yet. He pulled out his phone. One missed call, and two texts. He deleted both of them. Hailing a cab, he gave the cabbie directions to his new flat. He’d text Jim then, and not before.

About twenty minutes later, Jim watched as the man’s face and his fall was splattered all over the evening news. He grinned. Despite his and Sebastian’s sappy relationship, his skill certainly hadn’t declined. John had never been so clean in his skill. It was almost beautiful, in fact.

Again, he pulled out his phone. Sebastian was being an asshole again, and he groaned, realizing what a mistake he made ever initiating a relationship. Seb had been the perfect snipesman when Jim had first hired him. Quiet. Obedient. Ruthless. Now, after them had happened, he was…rebellious. Asshole-ish. It was positively awful.

Pressing a few buttons, he felt a sudden wave of pain hit him. Pulling the blanket over his head, he groaned and scrambled for more pills. Pleasantly drugged up, he pulled out his phone. “Good job, Bas-” Immediately, he bit his tongue and cut himself off. That was an awful tone to take. It was almost affectionate. It had been a reflexive saying, brought on by years of saying it and the muddiness of the painkillers. He cut off the call and called again, clearing his throat before speaking. “You have the rest of the day off. It’s nice to see your skills haven’t declined.”

Seb walked into his flat, and threw his pack on the floor, and stripped off his shirt. He needed a shower, badly. The building he’d been in had stunk of something like fish, and it was in his pores, and it pissed him off. He got in the shower, and took a long time. He heard his phone go off twice more. He knew Jim’d be leaving him messages. He didn’t care anymore. He was lying to himself, so that he could do a good job, and not look for Jim’s praise.

Walking out of the steamy bathroom into his bedroom, drying off his head, he picked up his phone to check his messages. The first one shot a figurative bullet through his heart as Jim’s impressed and affectionate voice came through the speaker. He nearly threw his phone at the wall at the words, but then they cut off, and Seb grinned internally. Jim was lying as well, but he’d caught him, on record. He saved the partial message, and then listened to the second one. Jim’s new cold voice came to his ear, telling him that he had the rest of the day off. Seb shook his head. As if Jim could tell him whether he had the day off or not. Even if he hadn’t given Seb the day off, he would’ve taken it anyway. He was glad that his skill level hadn’t fallen. He prided himself on his assassin skills. He smiled, and got dressed, and then sent a few text messages to a few people. Then he walked out of the flat, prepared for the worst. It was never a bad idea to be prepared for the worst.

After a few moments, Jim finally got up from his half-slumber. The hangover had returned to him again, and he resisted the urge to get another bottle. Now was not the time for drinking. It was the time for planning. Slowly, he crept up to what used to be Seb’s bedroom. Contrary to popular belief, there was a time between Seb moving in and shagging Seb. However, the room had been cleaned out and used as an office. Well, an office in not so many words. Mainly it was something he used to watch people.

Including Seb.

His frown increased as he saw him walk out of the bathroom. Jesus, it would kill the man to remember that the camera was in his bedroom. Of course, he thought, that was probably his stupid intention. But then he saw him listen to the message and his fist clenched around the mouse. Dammit. That was going to bite him in the ass someday. 

As he left, he saw him text a few numbers. No new texts appeared on his phone. Hmm. He tried to zoom in, in a half-hearted attempt to see what he was texting, but it was no good. Well, then. Seb was going to play a little game.

Seb left the flat looking around for any of Moriarty’s underlings who might be following him. Finally, he got a response to one of his texts.

Where and when? -JW

He smiled.

Rudolpho’s. 15 minutes. -SM

He hailed a cab, and gave the cabbie directions to Rudolpho’s, a small Italian restaurant similar to Angelo’s, but which was actually a cover for a black market of sorts. It was one of Seb’s favorite haunts, and he was dying to have their chicken fettucini again. The best part though, was that Rudolpho had a strict no surveillance policy. No amount of money could persuade the owner, Rudolpho, to put any cameras in, for anyone, thereby making a safe haven for those running from the law, or other hunters. The cab ride took no time at all, and when he arrive, John was waiting for him. He gave him a short nod, and John did the same and they entered the restaurant, going to a small shadowy table

They talked for a long while, about Jim, and about working for him, and then Seb sighed. “John… What happened while I was gone? Jim.. he’s different somehow,” he said haltingly. He never thought he’d be talking like this, much less about Jim, even less so with Doctor John Watson, a man he’d once had his trigger finger aimed at. But they had a lot in common now, having both worked for Jim Moriarty as gunmen. Though Seb knew he was a hundred times more proficient at his job, he respected John for having made the sacrifice no one else was willing to make. And that was an odd feeling.

John sighed and looked at him. “You were dead, Seb. I dunno how else to say it. But then, I was you… Someone turned me physically and mentally into you, and you wanted to see Jim again, to tell him everything was alright. He greeted you… me, like a long-lost lover, and we slept together, as you apparently used to do a lot. I remember it all in very vivid detail, though it’s not an experience I would want again,” he said sheepishly. “I wasn’t .. awake through the actual event. But you were. And now I share your memories of that day. And I confronted him about you, and he shut up, and shut down, and nearly killed me when he realised I wasn’t really you.”

John swallowed and looked up at Seb as he finished his story. Seb merely stares down at the food he tried to eat whilst they were talking. “So… no wonder he hates me now. He thinks that… Christ.” Seb shakes his head. “Well… far be it from me to hate you for something you had no control over, right?” he said, giving John a short smile. “Thank you for your insight, John Watson,” he said, getting up from his chair. “It’s been most helpful.” John smiled at him, and then told him the secret he know about Jim, and then waved goodbye to Seb, who left the restaurant after asking a few questions about bar-keeping.

Jim spent most of his day cataloguing new targets for Seb, generally doing housekeeping necessary for new employees. “Maybe soon you’ll stop being an ass.” He chirped to himself happily, shutting the filing cabinet. Another bottle of alcohol sat on the shelf, which he took sips of every few moments. He had given up not drinking for the rest of the day around 3 PM, and frankly, he liked his decision quite a lot.

After that, he spent a few more hours doing what he did best: gathering all the old photos he could of Sebastian and shooting them in a drunken rage. It was funny. When he was drunk was the only time his true feelings came out, and these showed quite clearly. Jim was angry. 

In fact, as Jim nearly drank himself into a blackout, he picked up his phone and called Sebby. He held the phone to his hear and hissed brokenly, sounding like a strangled cat: “I. Cannot. Tolerate. You.” He shut the phone off immediately and threw it at the wall, crawling into bed to sleep.

Seb didn’t answer his phone when it rang. He had the day off, and because of that, he could choose whether to answer Jim’s calls or not.

In the past, when they’d been together, Jim would call Seb after a job well done and tell him to come up to the house for his reward. Most of the time it was money. One time, it was his beautiful baby, his Audi, which he prized above almost everything, except his favorite rifle, and his … well, his Boss, the man who’d rejected him now. He made a mental note to take the Audi for a long drive when he got back. But as Jim had gotten to him, the rewards became more personal. And sexual in nature, and Seb had quickly found himself falling for the other man.

And Jim had felt the same way, apparently, from what John had said. He remembered the reunion that he’d had with Jim.. through John, which still grated on his heart. He remembered the passion, and the words Jim had spoken, and the tears he’d let fall. He had missed him, and Seb had as well. And then… he had fucked up somehow, and Jim didn’t seem to want to forgive him. And that was what killed him.

His phone beeped, reminding him he had a voicemail. He dialed the number and listened, and nearly smiled. Since Jim felt compelled to remind him how much he hated him, he still had a glimmer of hope. He took the quick route home, needing to drive somewhere fast and soon.

Jim couldn’t fucking sleep. He had tried for hours upon hours, hearing every scritch and scratch in the old house feel like a knife to his brain. Even hiding inside all of his blankets, placing one of Seb’s old noise-cancelling ear phones that he would take to the gun range (which, he told himself, he kept because of their practical purpose and not because of their emotional attachment) around his ears, and laying absolutely still. Sleep wouldn’t come to him. It was probably a good thing, in the end. If he slept…he would just have the nightmares come back to him. The ones where he did love Seb, the ones where Sebastian pleaded for his life, begged him to give him one more mercy, one more small mercy, and Jim had still shot him anyway. Shot him three times. In the hand, in the head, and in the heart. It was those dreams that woke him immediately, sweating and clutching at the pillow next to him.

He stood up, smashing the bottle against the wall as he did so. God, the place was a mess. Every bottle he had emptied since he became this way had been smashed to pieces, so much that glass littered every available portion of the bedroom. He didn’t even know why he still slept in here. Every time he walked in, he was just reminded of when Seb came back, and when he carried him, almost gently, to the bedroom, where-

No. He didn’t care. He didn’t. That was fake. So Seb would just work for him again. It was all fake. He’d never felt any sort of emotion towards Seb in his entire life.

His phone was still broken against the wall, and he scooped it up, looking at all the various bits and pieces. He could fix it. After all, this had been happening often. Too often. What a bastard Seb was, he inflected. Before, Seb had always answered every phone call, even at the expense of failing his job. It always made Jim happy. But now, the bastard wouldn’t even pick up the phone, even if Jim really didn’t have anything important to say. Taking his tools and starting to put the small phone back together, he resisted the urge to call him again.

Seb yelled, windows down, music blaring as his precious car zoomed down the curving backroads of the English countryside. Not another soul in sight, and no police either, so he cranked the speed up to over 100 miles an hour and raced around. He watched the sunset on the beach, his feet in the water, and then drove back towards London, bare foot on the pedal.

Jim hadn’t called him in a while. It was late, he knew, but after hearing his drunken voice on the other end of the phone, he had to admit to himself that he was just a little concerned for him. So, at 2 am, after making a couple of stops, he pulled up to the house where Jim was staying, and picked the lock, letting himself in.

Jim was dead.

Or at least, he felt like it. It was awful, putting his phone back piece by piece, knowing that by the end of the night, he could send Sebastian…well, incriminating phone calls, to say the least. And, given the last few, he really didn’t have the willpower. First things first, he told himself. No more alcohol for the rest of the night. However depressed that made him, he couldn’t have that. And, for the temptation himself…

It was funny, because they didn’t even have a piano. The old piano wire was just there, something to garrote throats with and cut cheese whenever the cheese cutter was lost. But still, it was there, and it was Jim’s punishment to himself. He tied it around his head, feeling it cut into the sides of his mouth. Dammit, the thing was sharp. He tried something experimentally. “Sebastian.” It came out muffled, but he could feel, as he spoke, the metal cut down into the sides of his mouth. Blood tricked down ever so slightly, and Jim sighed, satisfied with himself. It was rare for him not to have perfect self-control, but, he assumed, the alcohol had been messing with his mind lately.

He settled down on the couch with his favorite blanket, the one that still smelled just a little bit like Seb. Of course, if Seb had been there and things were different, he would never admit that to him, no matter the circumstance. He relaxed against the couch, his head lolling to the side as the wire started to cut into him again. Damn, bleeding against the couch. Didn’t matter, so much, but for some reason, it bothered him. What else bothered him? The fact that he was slowly falling asleep. With Seb gone, he never slept. Now, with him here, even though he didn’t care about him, he was sleeping like a child. As Seb silently walked into his house, Jim Moriarty was already asleep.

Seb walked into the silent dark house, and his eyes adjusted quickly to look at what a mess it had become. He growled a little in anger when he saw what had happened to the place, to Jim. Broken glass and empty bottles everywhere, weapons and torture devices lying out on the table and chairs. Jim used to be so neat, so precise in everything he’d done. The only time he’d ever let down his guard and let his emotions show was when he was with Seb, whether it was unabashed lust, or child-like glee, but be never showed it so freely Unless he was with Seb.

“You’ve truly gone mad then,” Seb said quietly. He looked at Jim, wrapped in one of Seb’s old blankets, with that damn piano wire around his mouth. He sighed, and his defenses fell slightly, and he let himself really look at the man who’d changed him for good. No matter what he said or did, he still loved Jim. And now he would prove it to him, the same way that Jim once got Seb to love him. Or.. well, sort of the same way, but in Seb’s own personal way.

Jim was out cold, so he didn’t feel Seb lift him in his arms and carry him to the big master bedroom. He took off the piano wire, and threw the thing as far away from Jim as he could without smashing a window and throwing it out of the house. He went back downstairs and started to clean up all the broken glass, and all the empty bottles. He was glad he’d put on his shoes before getting out of his car. He made several trips to the bins, and finally all the trash and alcohol was gone. He made a note to himself to not let Jim buy any more of it. By that time, it was nearly 8 am, so he called a cleaning company and made an appointment for them to come out and professionally clean everything. He went to the shops, and got enough food for the both of them for a long while, as well as clean sheets for one of the guest rooms, and a change of clothes, for Jim. He was half tempted to pick up a fresh Westwood, but figured there was time enough for that later. First, he needed to get Jim healthy again. He stopped by his flat, and grabbed a pack with his essentials, and locked it back up. He’d keep it for when Jim got annoying, but for now, he needed to be with Jim. The man had a reputation, and right now, he was failing. When he got back to the house, he heard noises coming from Jim’s bedroom, that sounded like his name, and he was sorely tempted to check on him, but decided against it, and instead, started to make breakfast for the two of them.

Seb was right. Jim didn’t feel anything, didn’t hear anything, until he had woken up at…God, he didn’t even know. His head felt like cotton, and by habit, he went to grab at the nearest bottle next to him. Hangovers were temporary until he got drunk again.

There was nothing there.

In fact, his room was clean. Almost spotless. Slowly, he got out of his bed, remembering that he hadn’t, in fact, fallen asleep there. He had fallen asleep with a piano wire tired to his mouth. Probably not one of his best ideas, he reflected, looking at the small cuts the wire had left on his face, but it had worked. Or, at least, he hoped it worked.

But now for the problem at hand. Someone had gotten into his flat. It was…weird. Really weird. 

And when things got weird for Jim, it made him angry. 

It took about two minutes for him to get dressed and polished, before he reached underneath his bed to grab a trusty pistol. Most of his weaponry was being publicly displayed around the house, on a counter or on the arm of a sofa. But this one was hidden, his trusty pistol that had killed many a man before.

He sat down and thought, his headache starting to overwhelm him. There was only one man who fucking cared enough to do this, and that was the same man Jim was so desperate to have little physical or emotional contact with. “Moran!” He howled, standing up quickly and opening his bedroom door. “Moran!”

Seb had put out a small cup of aspirin and a large tall glass of water for the man just before he heard him get up. He heard him coming down the stairs, and grabbed his pistol, and set it on the counter, in full view of the raging man.

“Boss, sit down, and stop being so fucking stupid,” Seb said, looking at him calmly. “Take that,” he said, pointing at the aspirin. “You’ll feel loads better, and then,” he said, looking at Jim for the first time that morning, “You’re going to eat. Not drink your meals, like you’ve probably been doing for months now.” He was being his no nonsense self. “You’re more than welcome to shoot me again, leave me for dead, but we all know how that turned out the last time. Honestly Jim, you’ve made yourself a corpse. Think of your reputation,” he said temptingly. He knew Jim’s pride had to still be there somewhere under the ragged features.

Jim waited until Seb was finished with his speech before firing all six rounds around Seb. Only a few of those were meant to hit him, but as he was looking, none of them did. Jim wasn’t good with guns, not like Seb, and his head was throbbing too much for him to take careful aim. “Get. Out.” He hissed, his eyes cold and hard. It didn’t matter that there was a pistol on the table. Seb wouldn’t shoot him, couldn’t shoot him. Not when Seb was all…domestic.

“How many times do I have to say this to you?” He hissed, grabbing the knife from the knife drawer. “I. Don’t. Care. About. You.” With an exaggerated shove, he swiped the water and the aspirin off the table, hearing them fall to the ground with a delicious crash. “I never have. I want you to leave, because there is no way in hell I would even fathom liking you. You’re boring and dull like every single other mindless asshole out there, and I don’t know why you’re so insistent.”

At the mention of his pride, Jim puffed out his shoulders slightly. Even in a wrinkled suit, holding a kitchen knife, and scars along his face, Jim looked proud. “I don’t invite people over to my flat on a daily basis, Sebastian.” His face was cruel and contemptuous as he spat out the name. Clearly mocking him. “I go out with the same pride as ever, shitface. I’ve killed more men. I’ve made more victories, more successes, with you just being my employee and nothing more. Or, even better? You being dead.”

Seb barely flinched as Jim raised the gun up to fire the full clip at him. None of them hit him, and he let Jim rant at him. He did flinch when he knocked the pills and water to the ground. He’d just had that cleaned, goddamnit.

“Listen, Boss, I don’t give a flying fuck if you care about me or not anymore. What I think of what you think of me, just doesn’t matter anymore. What I do care about, is the way you’ve been taking care of yourself. That’s going to stop. You are fucking Jim Moriarty. And look at yourself, you’re falling apart at the seams. That is going to stop, Jim,” he said, pointing his own knife at him.

“Sure, you’ve killed more people, had little victories… but have you enjoyed it like you used to? Really enjoyed it?” Seb asked with a knowing look.

Jim gave a wonderful grin as Seb flinched, wondering what else he could destroy. Just to get a reaction out of him. Just to see. His grip on the knife tightened, and he could feel lines of blood dripping down it. His hand shifted to the grip of the knife rather than the blade, and he pointed it at Seb threateningly.

“I’m fine.” He hissed, glaring back at Sebastian. As much as he wanted to keep his cold and calm exterior, a little emotion crept into his eyes. It wasn’t love. It wasn’t hatred. It wasn’t happiness. It wasn’t sadness. It was desperation, through and through. Jim was slipping. Too much. “Stop caring. I’m your Boss. Stop it.”

His hands shook now, but he calmed them and took a few steps towards Sebastian. Just to lower his voice to a growl. “There is nothing wrong with me. I have been getting along fine. I drink a little bit more. I’m a little bit more reckless.” He sucked in his cheeks, resisting the urge to say: And that’s what you liked about me, bitch.

“What I do or do not enjoy is none of your business.” He hissed at him, feeling the question hit him directly in his heart. “It has no bearing on you, it does not effect you.”

Seb stalked forward and in two steps, he’d taken the knife from Jim’s hand and thrown it into the sink. “I don’t give a damn what you think anymore, Jim. I am going to care for you, because at one time, you were a good Boss, before you became such a self-centered prick,” he said calmly.

“Oh, I could tell the care you’ve taken. Those were good devices Jim, and you just left them out, not caring for them, just like you stopped caring about yourself,” Seb said, letting him get closer. He had liked the reckless Jim, but this wasn’t recklessness. This was pure unadulterated foolishness, and it needed to stop. He saw the desperation in Jim’s eyes and knew that there was a part of him, however small, that hated what he’d become, and that was what Seb was going to cling to.

“Oh, but it does. Your whims are my orders, so I’d say it does affect me,” he said, getting right in Jim’s face.

“I won’t let you care.” Jim snarled, the knife being snatched from his hands. “I am your Boss, and you will do what I say. You won’t care about me.” There was a certain fear now brewing deep within him. It was harder than he thought it would be, doing this. His heart, where it had been still, was twitching angrily, at Seb. Damn the man to hell.

“I said I’ve taken care of it!” He hissed at him, leaning closer. “Whatever I’ve done, however I’ve changed, I’ve made sure that it has not affected my work.” ‘Work’, as Jim put it, was quite literally his life. It was more than a job he went to everyday. It was his lifestyle. And it…well, it had been affected by what he’d done. There was no pleasure taken in it. It was swift and ruthless. Well, more ruthless.

As his vision was nearly blocked by Seb, he felt his hands reach out and grab Seb’s hair, pulling him away. God, Jim was disgusted with himself. He was fighting the urge now, the actual urge, to just collapse, to just cry and kiss Seb and fuck him and tell him he was sorry. It was pathetic. Getting one hand free, he reeled back and punched him solidly across the face, quickly backing off. “Listen to me, Sebastian, and listen well. I’ve never cared about you. I never will care about you.”

“You lost that right when you killed me, Jim. Sorry,” Seb said coldly. “I will do whatever the hell I please with my personal life, and you will only control my work. That is it.” Seb remembered when his personal life and his work were one and the same, and he wanted to bring that time back, before Jim had gone bat shit crazy.

“But it has, you know it has, Jim. That’s what’s killing you, is that the work just doesn’t do it for you anymore, right? I felt the same, only I have the balls to admit what the problem is,” Seb hissed, also leaning closer. If he dared, he could kiss Jim right now, through the hate and the scorn. But he resisted.

Until Jim punched him. The bastard punched him in the jaw, and Seb reeled from the force of the hit, and he noticed just how quickly Jim backed off from him. He knew, the bastard knew he didn’t have a hope of beating him in a fistfight, but he’d gone for it anyway. Seb took a beat, and then looked at Jim, and in a swift move, he grabbed him and kissed him hard on the mouth, ignoring his struggling, ignoring his protests, and he bit down on his lip, hard enough to draw blood. His tongue attacked Jim’s, after forcing his lips open, and dominating him. “Don’t you fucking hit me again, Jim,” he said, backing away when he needed air. He was tempted to call the man a liar, but he waited to see what he would do instead.

“And I am your employer.” He hissed back, using a term he had never used with Seb before. Their work, their job, their relationship, wasn’t aptly described using ‘employer and employee’. ‘Boss and pet’ were more politically correct. “The work is fine. I don’t need to get off on things, I’m fine the way I a-“

Then he was cut off, because suddenly, Seb was kissing him. Roughly. Dominating him quite easily, even as Jim kicked and cried and shoved at him. For the most part, this pleased Jim, not because of the kiss, but because of the total nothingness he felt while he did it. He was numb. There was nothing where before Jim would have groaned in pleasure. He was winning. He was fucking winning.

Of course, there was one pitiful moment where Jim nearly whimpered, nearly cried out for him, nearly contributed to the kiss. His heart gave a needy jump as Seb pulled away, but Jim concentrated on making his look even calmer and cooler, if it were possible. If Jim couldn’t handle this, he might as well drag Seb to his bed right now.

“Get out.” Jim roared at him, throwing his arms back. “I will kill you if you don’t. I don’t give a damn if you’re the best sniper in London.” Then he stared straight into Seb’s eyes, the strange look that scoured the inside of a man. “Look at my face, Moran. You know I will. You know I fucking will.”

Seb looked at him for a reaction, any reaction. But then Jim just looked at him, calmly, collected, barely even breathing hard, a trickle of blood on his lip where Seb had bit him.

Then Jim started yelling, and Seb lost all hope. Anything he’d had left. He nearly handed Jim the gun, to off him right then and there, because he hated, hated, the idea that Jim really was lost to him. That he’d come back from the dead, for nothing. There was nothing left for him here. But he couldn’t die again. Couldn’t give Jim the satisfaction to know that he’d killed Sebastian Moran twice. So instead, he merely walked away, back to the guest room, where he’d been planning to stay for the forseeable future, grabbed his pack, and walked back out of Jim Moriarty’s life, without a goodbye.

He left his rifle in the room.

Jim looked at Seb for a moment, reaching up to wipe the blood on his lower lip. One last cut, he thought fondly, wiping the blood on the table. The tablet and glass were still shattered about the floor, creating a small bridge between them.

He stood there to the side, silently, as Seb looked like he was breaking. Good, his numb piece of his heart spoke. The part that still loved Seb, however deeply, was breaking into even smaller pieces. Seb couldn’t leave. Not his dear little Sebby. Not him. Anyone but him. Not again.

“Goodbye, Sebby,” He crooned as he saw him leave, the strongest bit of emotion that he showed. It wasn’t said affectionately, but with the strongest bit of sarcasm he could wrestle up. He wanted Seb to feel pain. And if Seb wasn’t working for him, he wanted Seb to die. He hated Seb. Seb was nothing to him. He was just a nobody, one of the dull people that populated every bit of the earth and he had made the mistake of allowing him to get too close. Literally and emotionally.

Then why did Jim feel as if he had been shot as Seb had left? Why did he collapse on the floor when he noticed Seb’s rifle? Why did he reach over and flick the safety off, bringing the muzzle dangerously close to his temple before tossing it across the room?

He told it to himself the best way he could: repetition. He told it to his numb heart all the way to the liquor store, he told it to his numb heart while killing the manager, he told it to his numb heart while driving home, his car sufficiently well stocked. He told it to himself as he nearly drank himself to death, he told it to himself while he locked Seb’s rifle in the attic like a precious treasure, and he told it to himself while he crawled inside his bed and sobbed himself to sleep.


	3. In Which A Whore is Injured on the Job

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian is back on the boards and in the bed of many, and Jim has a problem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SEBASTIAN IS AN ESCORT AT A GAY BAR. THERE IS MENTION OF SEX IN VARIOUS FORMS, AS WELL AS RAPE AND BLOODPLAY. ALSO, THERE IS VIOLENCE -  
> But really, if you weren't expecting that in a MorMor fic .... you might have issues.

Loud music pulsated through his body, and he grinned as he ripped off his shirt, and a woman from the bachelorette party poured her fruity drink over his abs and he smiled as she licked it off of him. He leaned down and let her get closer to him, before smirked, and walking away, moving his body in exaggerated movements, swaying his hips and his body to the music. A business-like man came up to him and threw a fifty pound note at him, and Seb grinned and leaned down and the man whispered what he wanted. Seb winked at him, and put out his hand, and the man gave him a cheque and then took his hand. Seb followed him into a room and locked the door behind them

A half hour later, Seb exited, having serviced the man fully. He hated himself, but he was able to lose himself here, in this place where he’d been before…. Well, after the army. It was pleasurable some of the time, and the pay was good.

He only rarely thought of Jim now. Well, that was a lie. Every time a short dark haired man came into the club, he tortured himself by checking their face. He put on his availability that he liked it rough and hot, and violent, and that bloodplay and handcuffs were fine, and when anyone took advantage of that, he pictured Jim as he fucked them. He no longer had principles, no longer had boundaries. His smile was a mask, and his emotions were cold and hard, and buried in a box at the back of his mind. He had numbed himself, and went through the motions most of the time, but people still lusted after him.

Life was no longer living for him. He had his Audi, and that was the one reminder of Jim he’d kept with him. Everything else had been burned, or in the case of his guns, left at Jim’s house. His Audi was his one passion, and when he wasn’t working, or sleeping, he took long, fast rides in his car, and roadtripped everywhere. But there was no enjoyment for what he saw, and soon, even his Audi got locked away in a high security storage facility.

Life hadn’t gone well for Jim either.

He got drunk daily. He had gotten much less sleep, which was to say, sleeping about once a night. And that was when he passed out from exhaustion. On rare occasions, he would drink himself until he passed out onto his bed, and that would grant him a few more hours. He rarely ate, only when he could feel his mind weakening from lack of nutrition.

The house had stayed remarkably put-together. A few more bottles smashed here and there, a couple more bullet holes. But Jim put his energy into his work, trying for one thing only: to prove Seb wrong. He did enjoy what he was doing, and he did get off on it. Work was his life. Work was what got him through the day.

On the outside, it went well. Jim got the reputation for being even more ruthless and unmerciful. Whether before he tortured things for his own twisted pleasures, now, they were tortured until he got his information. Than killed. For a while, he tried to do things the old way. Things that made him happy. But they didn’t. He couldn’t.

In the day, Seb was incredibly far from his mind. His focus was on everything else, every traitor, every ally. During the night? He couldn’t keep his mind off of him, especially with his rifle haunting him in the attic. Sometimes he would go up, look at it, and feel for the safety switch, and then lock it away again. He would never give Seb the satisfaction. Ever. 

However, later in the month, even that one showing of emotion shut down. Jim still didn’t sleep, still worked himself to death, but it was all automatic. He didn’t cry. Seb still entered his thoughts, many times, many horrible times, but he forced himself to believe that he didn’t love him and Seb was just a romantic fool. 

Still. Times when creeping through his phone, his number would graze over Seb’s number, and he would look at it for a few seconds before continuing.

Seb collapsed on his bed. Tonight had not gone well at all. He’d refused to be part of a foursome, and they’d not taken no for an answer. They had raped him, hard, and he tried to push his emotions and feelings away, but he’d nearly failed, and in doing so, they’d taken that as an okay to rape him twice more. They hadn’t even paid him afterwards.

He didn’t cry, he didn’t say anything to anyone, but he did take a week off from work to recover. He nearly texted Jim once, but ended up throwing his phone at the wall instead, and drinking himself into oblivion for a week straight. When he came back to work, they made him strictly a dancer, a sort of punishment, which he gladly took. The next time the men came into the club, he personally threw them out, and had a bouncer finish them off.

After a while, he was allowed to solicit his services again, and he avoided the big men, but not all men. He still worked with both men and women, but he started to drink more and more at night, when he got off work.

Jim was bored. 

The boredom was not an ordinary boredom he felt everyday, even with Seb. It was a cloud, a layer that infected every thought, every inflection, every action. He needed something else to occupy his time, not this boring planning and killing and torturing. Something had to excite him again. He was drowning in the boredom.

But it had infected him, and it was slowly killing him. He drank sometimes, and the cloud of the alcohol pushed the cloud of boredom away, but he could still feel hazy. He wanted himself back. The first time he realized that, he almost immediately shoved the thought away. His one goal in life was to succeed. The old him would not help that.

One particular night, he got home, blood still on his hands. Tonight had been…well, like any other night. Boring. Successful. Irritating. People were dull, dull, dull, and he wanted it all to stop. He wanted something interesting again. Pulling up his phone address book, his finger hovered over Sebastian’s name again. Seb was dull. Utterly dull. But it was always something when he talked to him.

Even the pain of talking to Seb was something to feel. Still, he threw his phone across the room, taking the nearest bottle of alcohol again. Seb’s rifle was growing dusty, he told himself dully. He hadn’t been up there in nearly a week. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he wondered if he would ever forget the man.

Seb sucked the man dry, and then rolled off of his climax-ridden body, and took his credit card, and ran it through the machine without a word. He let himself out of the room and sighed. This life…. he was done with it. He really was. He was so incredibly tired of this life, but he’d now been living it for six months. He’d taken up shooting at a range in Dorset on his days off, to keep up a skill he’d never need again, but it was the one thing keeping him sane, though it truly was a far reach at times.

He drank away his numbness mostly. Or to numb himself more, he wasn’t sure which.

It was just another night at the strip joint. He was put on shot duty, and he laughed slightly at the irony, but suited down, and took the tray, and put on his face, and started his rounds. Two bachelorette parties, a gentlemen’s club in the back room, and many many lonely faces.

Jim was disgusted with this new job he had. The manager of a strip club a good while away had angered him and threatened his position. He had to go there personally and kill him. None of his new snipers were half as good as Sebastian, and he didn’t trust them. At all. And he had to trust this one.

So he drove himself, a gun shoved in his pocket and a knife up his sleeve. He tapped out a beat on the wheel as he drove, but no emotion showed on his face from it. Emotionless. Nothing. God, what had happened to him? On his work, he was better than ever. Riding a wave that would never end. But inwardly, he was so done. 

As he entered the club, he gave a slight wince of distaste. God, these people were more pathetic than most, in his eyes. How dull they all looked, to weak to gain their own partners. But, Jim thought to himself, they truly didn’t matter to him. They were nobodies in their own nobody worlds. Like the rest of London.

He put on his weak face, his Jim from IT face, just a lonely lonely man with a lot of money looking to speak with the boss of this joint. He looked for someone that looked important, and a suited man carrying some shots of alcohol passed by him. His throat burned at him for one, but he didn’t oblige. Just yet. There would be time for that later.

Seb looked up and saw a few more lonelies straggle in, and didn’t even try to look at their faces. There were a few brunettes, but none of them carried themselves with the right air. He walked by them, a flirtateous grin on his face, as he offered them drinks and himself. Several of them blushed and took drinks, but there was one who didn’t blush, a quiet reserved man. Seb walked past him, his chest suddenly aching. He nearly went back, just to see if he had seen what he’d thought he’d seen, but then the manager called him over and made him go get ready for the show. He suited up for the number, and got in line back stage.

As the show began, he couldn’t help but look for the man who’d brushed him off, but he couldn’t spot him. He forced his smile and danced vigorously for the patrons, getting singles pressed against him, and thrust into his pants, and he was groped, just has he had been for every night the past two weeks. But he felt dirty, for the first time in what seemed too long, as if there was some part of him waking up from a slumber, and he had to force himself from leaping from the stage and running to the dressing room before he was done.

Jim took the offer of a drink but declined the man, his thirst overwhelming him. One shot wouldn’t hurt, especially not now. He looked a the man for a moment, at the flirtatious smile, and he could feel something twitch in his chest. Almost like it was his heart. But that was impossible. That thing had been dead silent for months now. He downed the shot in one gulp and placed it back on the tray, feeling the gun shift in his pocket.

But for some reason, his eyes kept following the back of his man from the spot where he was sitting, pleading for him to turn around. There was something…familiar, about this man. He couldn’t placed his finger on it, but-

Ah.

No.

It couldn’t be him.

Yet, the man was called over by the manager and spoken to and continued to dance on stage. Jim huffed, not even bothering to glance at the man as he strode up in front of many people to see the manager. He began to talk to him quietly, in a smooth, low voice. Something about wanting to plan a party and needing to speak about rates. Jim could feel his voice reverberate, manipulative and alluring, but his eyes kept moving over to the man onstage.

Seb finally spotted him, the man who’d brushed him off, the man who’d……Christ above, it was him. He nearly choked it his dance, but caught up a drink from a customer and drank it down, giving him a winning smile, and the customer, reached up and ran his hand over Seb’s abs and crotch, and Seb felt a rising urge to kill that man, for touching what wasn’t his. Where did that thought come from? he thought to himself. He belonged to no one, that’s why he was here.

He watched the man through his peripherals, and watched as he walked over to his manager, and talked with him. Then he noticed a quirk, a quirk that both thrilled him and terrified him, something Jim did just before a kill, something he’d always done, and he was suddenly sure of two things: Jim was here, in the strip club, and he was going to kill his boss. Emotions rose up in Seb’s throat, and he had to force them away and finish his performance, stripping down to his jockstrap. He felt completely exposed, more than he had in a very long while, and he hated it, but he forced those feelings away to, and danced like his life depended on it, keeping a wary eye on Jim and his manager.

Jim was having a hard time arguing with the manager, trying to get him to a secluded spot. His tone was growing steadily less ‘shy lonely heart’ to ‘psychopathic homicidal maniac’. The manager seemed to sense this, and he started to back off slightly. Finally, Jim murmured a low threat to him, motioning to what seemed to be an empty room. “Discuss. Now.” He growled, one hand flashing the butt of the gun in his pocket.

His eyes landed on the man on stage again, and their eyes met. Finally, something clicked in his brain. Jesus fucking Christ. It’s Sebastian Moran. His heart gave that funny little twitch it was so wont to do and he forced himself to stare at the manager right in the eye. It was hard, especially since the man who had plagued his dreams for the past six months was currently dancing in his jockstrap on stage. Dammit, he had to be here. 

He forced his eyes back to the manager, who was hurriedly unlocking a private door. His eyes met Sebastian’s, and he could feel himself become like his old self. Just for one simple action. It was the action he had given when he had walked into Seb’s flat when he had accidentally shot himself in the foot, the action he had given when he had stolen Seb’s Audi and finally slowed down after the man had chased him for miles, the action he had given when he had walked in on Seb, early in their relationship, naked in the shower. He raised his hands and wiggled his fingers in a charismatic wave and mouthed, ‘Hi, Sebby.’

Realizing his mistake, his eyes widened and he shoved his hand down. A steady blush appeared across his face as he followed the manager, his hands shoved deep in his pockets and his tone incredibly dark.

He could tell they were agitatedly arguing about something, and then Jim’s hand was on the butt of a pistol, and he read his lips as he threatened his manager into opening a door. Then Jim looked right at him, and Seb nearly choked. Of all the days Jim had to come into his haven, and threaten his boss, it had to be when he was the most exposed he could possibly be, nothing to hide behind.

Then Jim waved, and mouthed a familiar greeting, and Seb’s pulse rocketed, and he nearly missed a step, remembering all the times Jim had greeted him like that in the past. But then Jim shut down again, but not before a blush had covered his cheeks. Hope rising for the first time in far too long, and with it a dread growing deep within his heart, Seb danced his way slowly towards the room the manager and Jim had gone into, and when he’d finally reached it, he walked in, as if he’d forgotten something in the room, and came face to face with Jim holding a gun to his manager’s head.

Jim licked his lips again as he followed the manager inside, feeling his pulse throb. Seb had nearly fallen when he had seen his greeting, and for some reason, that made his heart beat far faster than it should have. Far, far faster. However, he managed to quiet himself again, in body and mind, before he entered the room with the manager. Seb’s manager? 

It had taken approximately six minutes to get the information he wanted, but for some reason, he hesitated on the kill. For a rare, strange moment, he thought he was enjoying it. “Sebastian.” He murmured in surprise, his carefully arranged face falling for a moment. Immediately his trigger finger slipped and the manager fell, dead before he hit the floor. Then he turned the gun on Seb, his fingers shaking again. “What the hell are you doing here, Sebastian?”

Jim looked at him, and said his name, and a shot rang out, and Seb’s manager fell dead on the floor. Surprisingly enough, Seb wasn’t concerned about his manager, but more the man who’d killed him, who was now pointing a gun at him.

“I came here for the food, what the hell do you think I’m doing here, Jim?” Seb asked, completely blown away by the man’s stupidity. “I’ve been here for a while now. Didn’t think you’d want a postcard, so I didn’t send one. My apologies,” he said, as casually as if they were standing in a flea market, instead of Jim holding a smoking gun pointed at Seb, who was naked but for a jockstrap. “My turn. What the fuck do you think you’re doing here? I didn’t think gay bars were up your alley.”

Jim looked over Seb, feeling a pang of sadness hit him. Seb had returned to this, hadn’t he? His poor baby. He was getting paid well here, less than what he had for Jim, but the work was definitely worse. Probably didn’t have a good bed to return to and certainly not a Jim either. He looked like he was drinking too much, not that Jim could exactly argue with that. He looked tired, sleepy. He looked…dull. Positively dull. Jim felt a strange need to help, to take Seb home and hug him, kiss him, be as gentle as he could be with him to make up for all the bastards he saw loitering out there. Seb was his, goddammit, and he would be damned if-

“Your manager angered me.” Jim said simply, nudging the body with his foot. Everything seemed to crash around him, and Jim could feel his mind chase back on itself. There was too many emotions. Too many. And it was sickening Seb could still make him feel that way, after months of trying not to be that way. Then something clicked in his brain. How deliciously ironic. His madness overcame him again, the madness that had always existed but that had morphed, changed, into a twisted new type of insanity that infected every pore. 

He took a step closer to Seb, and for a moment, his fingers wobbled against the gun. This is the only way I can be free, apparently. I’m so sorry, Sebby. I’m so so so sorry, my poor pet, my wounded tiger. With a sad grimace at him, he could feel his eyes water as he pulled the trigger, point-blank, at Sebastian Moran.

Seb watched Jim’s face go through a myriad of emotions in just a few moments. He saw protectiveness, love, angry, rage, hatred, passion, forgiveness, contempt…. all the emotions, and all conflicting with each other.

And then they were all gone. And the new cold and calculating Jim was back, and Seb’s heart dropped as he saw the madness creep back into his features, and then Jim stepped closer to him, and Seb fought the urge to run. He should’ve.

A gunshot rang out, though not as loud as it could, thanks to the silencer on Jim’s pistol, but in Seb’s ears and in his heart, it rang as loud as the bells on Christmas morning, though it sounded like the end of the world to Seb as he moved just in time to avoid a bullet to his chest, but fire still blazed through his as his thigh caught the bullet, and he fell to the ground, screaming obscenities, and clutching his leg, and biting his lip to keep himself from calling out too loudly. He was all too glad he’d shut and locked the door behind him. He looked up at Jim, and through the haze of pain, he sore he could see a solitary tear in each of his eyes, twinkling past the madness.

When Seb fell, Jim expected to feel happy. Fulfilled. Good. He felt none of it, but, to be fair, he didn’t feel numb. He felt as if his heart had been smashed deep into his chest until it resided, smashed beyond recognition, in his stomach. You’ve done it again, you insane, mad lunatic. You’ve destroyed the only man you’ve ever loved and you ever will. This was your last chance and you’ve failed it, failed it so badly you don’t even deserve to leave this room. Don’t even deserve to say goodbye. 

But then something happened, and Seb was not dead. Admittedly, he was in a lot of pain, and screaming and howling, but he was not dead.

I can fix this. I’m James Moriarty.

The dullness vanished beneath his eyes and he fell to his knees, crawling over to Sebby and placing both hands on his thigh. “Lay down, arsehole.” He growled, pushing his leg still and shrugging the bag off of his shoulder. “Basty, I can either take you to the hospital now and have to answer all sorts of difficult questions later, or I can physically carve the bullet out of your leg and have you die of blood loss. Your choice.” He said bluntly, placing a hand beneath his chin. It was more than a rhetorical question. It was an ask whether Seb even wanted to go back to the way things were, the happy way, or live the life he was living now and be worse than dead.

God, it felt good. Even if Seb was there, howling and screaming obscenities at him, he could feel the life returning to him, as if someone had flicked a switch. A part of him resisted just losing it over Seb right then, crying and sobbing like a child, but he couldn’t. Not when Seb was hurt and had been for a long time.

Pain, pain, throbbed in his leg, and he wondered if Jim had been using new bullets that shattered on impact, or had put poison or something on the bullet itself.

Suddenly, Jim was kneeling next to him, and pushing his leg down, and trying to calm him down. Seb nearly pushed him away before realising he was trying to… help him? Jim was trying to help him. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” he yelled, shoving at him, his heart leaping a little at the oh too familiar nickname that he hadn’t heard in far too long. Jim grabbed his chin, and pulled him up to look at him, and made his offer to help his get the bullet out, and Seb swallowed his pain away, looking up at Jim, his mask finally falling, all of his emotions in plain sight for the first time in nearly a year.

“Take it out. Please, Jim,” he asked, wincing as he jostled his leg. He had no shame in begging. His hand brushed Jim’s in his plea to get the bullet out of his leg. “I promise I won’t die. Not now. We can got after the bullet’s out.”

Jim felt his hands shake slightly, looking at Seb’s face. Every emotion was there at once, the mask he hadn’t realized was there was gone. God, it made his heart hurt. “I’m so sorry.” He whispered, horrified at himself and what he had done. Every memory flashed through his mind, and he let go of Seb’s chin swiftly. He couldn’t look at it. This was the first time in Jim’s life where he couldn’t face the consequences of his actions, or, at the very least, being forced to face them. And Seb’s fucking face…

“Brace yourself.” Jim ordered, taking out the knife in his pocket and holding Seb’s leg down. “This is going to hurt, but I promise you can shoot me later if you still want to.” He shut his eyes tightly, pressing the knife to the wound and holding Seb’s down with his other hand. Stop the hands from shaking, Jim. Good. Good. You can do this. 

He braced Seb’s leg with his elbow and grasped Seb’s hand tightly, pressing the knife tighter. “I’m sorry.” For some reason, that was the phrase Jim kept repeating, as he carved the spot around the bullet out. God, you’re hurting him, you twisted, permanently broken-

There. A good grasp on the bullet, one swift, painful yank, and it was out. Jim twirled it in his fingers. He shrugged off his jacket, tying it around Seb’s thigh. His hands were slippery with Seb’s blood, and his hands were trembling again as he looked at Seb. Wordlessly, he handed the gun to him and held his arms out wide.

There, Basty. I’ve done what little I can to make it up to you. And it’s not enough. It’s not nearly enough. I’m so sorry. Shoot me. Shoot me so I don’t have to face it.

“Shoot me.”

Jim’s apology hurt Seb more than the bullet did. He hadn’t wanted…well he had wanted Jim to regret what he’d said and done, but not now, when he couldn’t do anything to convince him otherwise. Jim pulled out his knife to cut the bullet out, hands shaking, and Seb grasped his leg and his hand, squeezing and crying out just a little as Jim cut the bullet out of his leg. He’d had worse, but the circumstances surrounding it caused this moment to be one of the most painful injuries Seb had ever been on the receiving end of.

Finally it was done, the bullet was out, and Seb winced as he felt Jim’s jacket being wrapped around his leg. He chocked back a cry of pain, and then Jim was handing him his gun. Why…… “What?” Seb asked, truly confused. “You want me… fuck no.” he said, putting the safety on it and throwing it as far away from them as possible. “I wouldn’t… Christ, Jim, I .. I couldn’t shoot you. I think I just got you back, unless I’m dreaming, or I’m dead again,” he said, leaning all the way back onto the floor, wincing as his torn muscle stretched. He felt a single tear trickle from his eyes, and he propped himself up again. He hadn’t cried in… months at least, despite everything that had happened to him. “Are you… Christ, Jim, is it really you?”

Jim gave a small whine of protest as Seb flicked the safety on the gun and threw it. Almost childishly, he moved to go get it before looking back at Seb and going back over to him. He looked at him again, and he realized his breath was coming in short, very short, gasps. This was too much for his poor heart. His poor, stupid heart. His grip tightened around the bullet as he curled up next to Sebastian, checking the wound. He looked back up at Seb, trying to detect all the physical pain in his eyes. Should we go? Should I apologize again? Should I tell you I love you? Should I get the gun and shoot me personally? Should I shoot you?

He helped Seb prop himself up and he put both his arms around him tightly, feeling the warmth of his body. God, I missed this. “You should shoot me.” He replied quietly, like a child. “You should shoot me because I’m a stupid arrogant stubborn asshole and I hurt you too much and this is the second time I’ve shot to kill you.” Damn, he was trembling again. When did that start up? “I missed you. I love you. You’re not dead. You can’t be dead. I won’t let you be dead. Basty.” He was rambling now, placing his head against Sebastian’s shoulder and nuzzling. “Sebby. Sebby, Sebby, Sebby, Sebby. I’ve missed you. I’ve missed you so much and I was so stupid and I’m so sorry.”

Jim was having what seemed to be a panic attack. He curled up next to Seb, and checked his wound, and already, Seb could feel the effects of the blood loss, but he didn’t care. He would survive, for Jim. Because he was back, no more of the Mad Cheshire Jim, no more drunken stupor Jim, he was fully back, and he had his arms around him, and Seb swallowed back his emotions again, still trying to sort out what exactly they were.

Jim started rambling, and Seb fought the urge to slap him, get him to stop talking nonsensically, but he listened to the words, and henearly cried. Jim was telling him he loved him and that he missed him, and that it had all been a lie, and that he was stupid. Seb held him close. He wanted to pull him into his lap, but then a sudden dizzy spell hit him, and he clutched Jim’s arm. “If you’re really sorry, get me to a damn hospital. There’s a few fake papers in that bag over there,” he pointed to his much smaller pack in the dressing room. “I’ll be fine, tell them you’re my boyfriend, they’ll let you in. No talking though,” he said. He pulled his mobile out and pressed send for emergency services. “You tell them I got shot by a random gunman. For the love of Christ, don’t tell them you did it,” he said, handing Jim the phone, and took Jim’s free hand in his own.

Jim calmed down, taking the phone from Sebastian. The world became just a little bit less intense, and the faintness in Jim’s head disappeared. Damn. He’d been in far, far more stressful situations than this and felt nothing. Now? There were a good few moments when he was fighting the urge to pass out. The emotions still tore through him like a knife. Inwardly, he wondered why he had changed so quickly. Perhaps…perhaps, he thought, because of the frightening similarity of the situation to the one from…before. Yes. That must have been it. Pointing the gun at Seb, seeing his stupid, shocked eyes…There was no other reason.

“You know I’ll talk, Basty.” He smirked at him, giving him a shy kiss on the cheek. “I just won’t tell them that I did it. I don’t have the time nor patience to fight off the police now.” It was funny. As soon as Jim took the phone, as soon as he had to deal with another person, another facade was up. Emotional, sobbing, blubbering Jim was no longer. Granted, he was definitely not what he was before, the cold, drunk monster. But now he was simply the concerned, slightly oblivious boyfriend. A couple of fake tears fell from his eyes and he sobbed every few seconds into the phone. As he did so, his hands traced some of the scars on Basty’s chest. Something clicked inside his brain, and the facade dropped for a moment as he turned to Seb. “Sebby, someone hurt you.” His tone was frightening and full of poison. “Only I am allowed to hurt you, Bas. Obviously. You’re mine.”

Perhaps it wasn’t the time to be showing his possession, but Jim was angry at the scars. He’d always been just a little bit possessive of his pet, his sniper. Placing the phone back in Seb’s bag, he went to get the smaller bag for a moment and looked at the papers. Good. Not as good as my forged papers are, but they’ll do. Sighing, he crouched beside Sebby and threw the man’s arm over him. “You’re going to need to walk, Basty. Can you?”

Seeing Jim’s face change like that was a welcome happenstance for Seb. He hoped he would never have to see the cold monster that Jim had become ever again. Jim leaned in and kissed him lightly on the cheek, and he nearly said something about it, but a wave of pain covered him, and he grimaced instead, trying not to laugh at the bullshit that Jim was feeding the medic on the other side.

Jim’s fingers were tracing the scars that Sebastian had acquired over the past year as he talked, and then he brushed one that was from the rape incident, and Seb had to fight the urge to flinch away. And of course, that would be the one that Jim would notice, the one he’d get protective over, the one that he would care about. Seb brushed off his questions. He get to them later, when his leg was taken care of.

Jim finished his phone call, and threw the phone into Seb’s pack, and put in on his back and came back over to Seb, his papers in hand. Seb groaned when Jim helped him up, and merely nodded and started to hobble to the back door, leaving his manager’s body on the ground. “Think so,” he said, trying not to lean too heavily on the shorter man, but loving that his arms were around him again. He’d never admit that though. “I’ll assume you told them where to go? Christ,” he swore, as they walked outside, and a chilly wind hit him. He remembered then that he still was only wearing a jockstrap. He winced, and shivered, and thought. “Jim give me my pack,” he said, and when Jim did, he pulled out a pair of jeans and a button down, and slowly and excruciatingly painfully, pulled them on and then tossed the shirt on as well, though he didn’t button it up. He just needed some kind of protection from the wind, and he didn’t want to get arrested for indecent exposure before he died of blood loss.

Jim was still holding Seb. He felt just slightly fatigued from it. Along with Seb being a few inches taller, he was also bigger Jim was. But seeing Seb’s grimace, he wrapped his arms just a little bit tighter. It didn’t matter now. Jim deserved whatever pain he felt because of Seb, and goddammit, was he feeling pain. His heart was twisting and writhing painfully, especially as his hand had brushed over that one scar that he could tell Seb hated, that he was trying to hard not to show-

“Of course I told them. I told them you actually got shot at the gas station across the street and I thought I could get you to the hospital. But we got to here before you nearly passed out on me and I panicked and called emergency.” Jim said smoothly, standing in the cold with Sebastian. His characters, as he called them, were all perfectly sincere and believable. This one would be the panicked boyfriend, the perfect half to the quiet sniper. Or whatever profession he would lie and say Seb was.

He tried to help Seb get his clothes on, being unbelievably careful whenever he had to brush the man’s thigh. Immediately the jeans were almost soaked with blood, especially when Jim untied his jacket, but it didn’t matter. “Sebby,” He said firmly, his hand tightening around him. Rather than wrap his hand on the outside of his shirt, he had slipped his hand inside to be as close to him as he could. “We’re going to get you fixed up. And then you’re going to tell me every fucking thing that I’ve done to you for the past year.”

After that, he remained silent, his head falling against Seb. The ambulance showed up a little while after, and he became alert again, shoving the story out for the second time and waiting while they took care of him. He manged to allow himself in the ambulance and he grabbed Seb’s hand tightly, reaching up to kiss it once or twice. Shit. Fake name.

Sebastian choked out a laugh at Jim’s bogus story. It sounded good, and legitimate, especially since it was a gay joint, and they were together. He thought through the story, and sighed. “My papers say I’m a security guard. Fucking stupid, I know, but there it is.”

Seb’s trousers were immediately soaked with blood, and he grimaced as the denim rubbed at his wound. “That medic better get here soon,” he muttered, grateful for the skin on skin hold Jim had on him. It was reassuring, to know that he was there after all of this, despite that fact that it was Jim who’d done this in the first place. “I will. Well… I will,” he said, leaning on him a little more. “Move me to the wall. I don’t want to crush you, Jim,” he said, trying to hobble over to the wall.

The ambulance finally arrived, and the medics hauled Seb away from Jim, but Sebastian clung to Jim’s hand, and forced himself to moan slightly. “Don’t leave me,” he said, looking up at Jim with unbashed fear and love in his eyes, trying to look the part of an injured boyfriend. “Sam, don’t leave me,” he said, giving him a first name to go off of, and then he was being masked for oxygen and he felt the sweet flow of morphine in his veins as they stuck him with a needle. His hand still clutched Jim’s, not letting him go for a moment, though he closed his eyes as his jeans were stripped off of him, and pain flaired again.

Jim shook his head. “You’re not crushing me. It’s fine.” He placed a gentle hand on Seb’s wound, feeling the reaction he got, but figuring a bit of pressure on the wound never hurt. Whatever kept Seb alive, at this point, was good enough for him. “Just stay conscious. I can hold you up, but I can not carry you.”

In the ambulance, at first Jim played the twittery boyfriend, trying to help wherever he could, but he soon saw the annoyance in their eyes. Seb really needed their help and Jim couldn’t hinder it. So he just sat, crying with a mix of sincere and fake tears, both of his hands clutching Seb. “I won’t leave you, Se-“

You’re losing it, Jim. Se-. Sebastian’s out, obviously. Something exotic will be able to be traced. Something too close to Sebastian might get a reaction out of Sebby. Hm. Se-. Se-.

“I won’t leave you, Seth. I’m so sorry, baby.” He whispered, bringing his hand up to his mouth and kissing it. “I’m so sorry. I’ll kill him. I’ll kill him for you.” Already, another story was formulating in his mind, one that would explain for the obnoxious amount of blood in the room at the strip club. If they asked, if they involved the police, he would spill it. “I love you.” He whispered again, his hand reaching up to brush his face. “You’re hurting him.”

Seb watched Jim try to help, knowing that this was killing him to see Seb in pain, and not being able to do anything about it. He held his hand tightly. His heart sped up a little when Jim nearly called him his real name, and he hoped he’d pick a solid name. When he called him Seth, Seb grinned a little, and squeezed his hand. Seth was down as his middle name on his paperwork. Hand it to Jim to get it close enough for it to work.

Sebastian let a tear fall, and he cried out as the bastard who dared to call himself a medic started to clean his wound. He moved his mask to comfort Jim just a little. “Sam, don’t, it’s fine,” he said, when Jim started to get up, fury in his eyes at the people who were hurting him. “They’re helping it, it’s okay, love,” he said, warning him down with his eyes.

The ambulance ride seemed to go on forever, and finally they arrived, and got him into surgery immediately. Seb held on to Jim’s hand until they past the doors, and then he blacked out.

Seb watched Jim try to help, knowing that this was killing him to see Seb in pain, and not being able to do anything about it. He held his hand tightly. His heart sped up a little when Jim nearly called him his real name, and he hoped he’d pick a solid name. When he called him Seth, Seb grinned a little, and squeezed his hand. Seth was down as his middle name on his paperwork. Hand it to Jim to get it close enough for it to work.

Sebastian let a tear fall, and he cried out as the bastard who dared to call himself a medic started to clean his wound. He moved his mask to comfort Jim just a little. “Sam, don’t, it’s fine,” he said, when Jim started to get up, fury in his eyes at the people who were hurting him. “They’re helping it, it’s okay, love,” he said, warning him down with his eyes.

The ambulance ride seemed to go on forever, and finally they arrived, and got him into surgery immediately. Seb held on to Jim’s hand until they past the doors, and then he blacked out.

Jim had glared at the medic with real fury in his eyes as Seb had cried out, feeling his hand go to his gun. That wasn’t there, because it was still rotting somewhere in the club. No one hurts him. No one except me. You’re dead. The thought ran over and over in his mind, but at Seb’s eyes, he sat down. “I’m s-s-sorry, it’s just…” He buried his face in his hand for a moment, stifling a few more sobs. “I…my poor baby got shot…Please don’t hurt him. Please.” He begged them, feeling disgusted with himself. Not so much for the begging. Begging was normal. I almost lost character. Fuck it.

For the rest of the ride, Jim’s eyes left Seb’s face, instead pressing his hand to his lips and murmuring against it. At the time, they seemed rather important what he was murmuring, but as they reached the hospital, they seemed paltry sweet nothings. “It’ll be okay, Seth.” He murmured at last, running along with the stretcher. “I’ll see you later, I promise. I won’t leave you.”

When they forced him to stay behind, for a frightening half minute, he had stood his ground ferociously, holding onto Seb’s arm. “No.” Finally, after minutes of pleading, Jim slunk off to the corner of the waiting room, his head falling against a wall.

Sebastian woke up a few hours later, to the beeping of a heart monitor. He looked around his hospital room, looking for the one face he knew he needed to see, before he even checked how he was feeling. “Ji…. Sam… Sam,” he said, nearly calling out for Jim. He pressed the call button, wincing at his extremely weak muscles.

“Is my boyfriend in the waiting room?” he asked when the nurse came in to check him. “Please… He needs to know I’m okay,”he pleaded with her, as she checked his vitals. It’s for your own safety bitch. Go get him, now, if you want to live, he wanted to say, but he kept it to pleading with his eyes. “Mr. Winchester, if you don’t mind, I need to make sure you are not still damaging your wounds.” “Please, miss…. Jane,” Seb said, putting on his flirtateous tone. “Can’t he just come in, and then you can check on me? Please.” He pouted a little, and she relented, and went to go get “Sam”.

Jim had sat his head against the wall, drifting in and out of sleep. This had been one of the longest days of his life, as he felt his fingers tap against the floor. Too much. All he really wanted to do was curl up next to Seb, put his arms around him, and sleep. The few people that dared to approach him, whether about his bloodstained attire or the length of his stay, were given fierce snarls.

Soon a young attractive woman came out of the room, looking about. “S-Sam?” She called out, her voice shaking slightly. Jim perked up his ears, his fake name taking a few seconds to sink in. “Yes, I’m Sam. Is my boyfriend back there? Is he alright?”

It was a few minutes before he found his way to ‘Seth’, looking at the man in the hospital bed. His eyes filled with real tears for a moment as he sat next to him, his hands fumbling for his. “Seth.” He said, licking his lips as he saw the nurse dash about for his vitals. Finally, ‘Jane’ caught his eye and saw his glare and his snarl. After taking the essentials and nothing more, she dashed out of the room.

Jim walked into the room, and Seb wanted to get out of his bed and hug him close and never let him go again, but at the same time he was disgusted with himself. He’d let himself get to this point, let Jim shoot him, let himself … He shook himself out of those kinds of thoughts, and smiled up at “Sam” holding his hand tightly. “Christ, I can’t imagine how you’re feeling right now. I’m fine, really,” he said, reassuring his boyfriend, and waiting until Jim had glared the nurse out of the room, before he dropped his gaze to his leg. “I’ll be fine,” he said softly. “I knew I would be.”

He took a breath, and then he tugged Jim down to him and kissed him harshly, having waited long enough to kiss him senseless, dragging his mouth over Jim’s and nipping his bottom lip hungrily.

Nothing else mattered. He just needed to kiss him. He didn’t want anything else from him, but this, and he let him go after a little while, when the heart monitor started to freak out from his rapid heart rate and low pulse as he gasped for breath. “I’m sorry. For … Christ, for everything.” He looked away. “Have they questioned you about anything?”

“Jesus, Seth, I feel like my heart just got ripped out of my chest. You better be fine. I’m not going home alone.” He paused, his hand tightening on his hand as he looked at Seb pleadingly. Forgive me. Don’t forgive me. Shoot me. Kiss me. Tell me you love me and you always will. Then he shook his head roughly, expelling those thoughts. Seb would do what Seb always did. Hopefully that included staying with him and promising he would never leave him again, no matter what Jim did or said. “You better be fine.” He repeated, tears filling up his eyes again.

As Seb reached up to kiss him, Jim kissed back with reckless abandon, bringing both of his hands up to grab at his neck and face as he did so. God, he missed this, he missed this so fucking much as he pressed his face against Sebby, breathing in the awful mixture of blood and sweat and alcohol and hospital. For a moment, he was entirely submissive, allowing Seb’s teeth at his lip, but he became a bit rougher, fighting against the man’s tongue.

Hearing the monitor beep at him, Jim leaned back roughly, staring at it. ”Don’t kill yourself yet, Sebby.” He breathed against him, still halfway on the bed. After a moment of standing there, he slid back on his chair, both hands still grabbing Seb’s. “No.” Jim nearly shouted, grabbing Seb’s chin with both of his hands.

“Don’t you dare apologize you bastard, you fucking bastard.” Jim reached forward to kiss him again, a short one but a dominated one. “This is my fault, Sebby, everything that’s happened to you and everything that’s happened to me is because of me. Don’t forget it.” Dropping his face, he buried his own in the bed for a moment, hiding the few sobs he managed to squeak out.

When he pulled his face up, he leaned it against Seb’s chest. “Just a little bit, but I looked really tired for a while and they left me alone. Basically, the manager is your ex-boyfriend. He can be your fiance if you are so willing, Bas. We had an argument at the gas station, which I’ve already bribed three people to witness, and we ran into the club to hide. He found us there and shot you, turned the gun on me, and I shot him dead. I then called emergency and la-di-da.” He shrugged, playing with Seb’s fingers in his hand. “If they ask for motivations, career backgrounds, etc., I’ve already formulated them all. Just let me talk if they ask, Bast.” 

He bit the inside of his lip, the tears starting to leak out again. “Seb, if I ever do anything like that again, anything, you’re shooting me. Before I do something like…like this. No arguments, no questions. Just do it.” His hand running down Seb’s chest again, it stopped on the puckered scars, and he gave a small huff before looking up at Seb questioningly.

“I think I’ll be fine. I’d not let you be alone anymore anyways,” Seb said as Jane left. “We’ve both been alone for too long. Look at us,” he said, as the heart monitor went off steadily, as his pulse returned to normal.

It picked up again when Jim was grabbing his chin and kissed him again dominating him and Seb let him, kissing him back. Jim forced him to say that it was his fault, and although Sebastian knew it was true, he didn’t want Jim to keep hating himself for this. “Fine. It’s your fault, but I’m not going to hate you for this, Jim. I’ve.. Christ, I’ve fucking missed you too much for that.” He took one of his hands from Jim and rubbed his back as he cried, knowing that this was killing both of them.

Jim finally looked up at him, and then lay his head on Seb’s chest, telling him the plan for the story. “Ex boyfriend is fine. Don’t think either of us were the type for marriage,” he said, liking the feel of Jim’s fingers around his own. “So that’s settled.”

“Jim, I’m not going to shoot you. That’s where you’re stronger than me. I… I couldn’t shoot you even if I wanted to, even if you were being the world’s biggest douche, I couldn’t kill you,” Seb said, watching him. Jim was focused on his scars again, and Seb groaned. “I was one of the… more open sells at the club,” he said reluctantly. He swallowed, knowing this would just piss off Jim. Jim didn’t like anyone to touch Sebastian, his “pet”, but for the past year, Seb hadn’t cared what Jim thought. He looked away from Jim, waiting for the outburst.

“I’m not leaving you alone.” Jim mumbled into Seb’s chest, his hand reaching down to just barely brush the wound. “I’m going to find out when they’re letting you go soon. I don’t want to stay here. Public makes me nervous.”

“You don’t hate me because you’re stupid, but I’m more stupid.” Jim sniffed, making himself stop crying. “Why won’t you? Hate me, Seb, hate me and quit and go live a better life than the one you were living. I lost you, Sebby, because I made myself lose you.” He licked his lips, barely brushing Seb’s chest as he did so. “I didn’t miss you.” Jim murmured, horrified at himself. “I didn’t even think about you…that’s why it hurts right now, Seb. It hurts so much.” He felt Seb’s hand at his back and he snuggled closer to his chest, listening to his heartbeat fill his eardrums for a moment.

As Seb’s fingers tightened around his, Jim scratched at them gently. “No marriage? That ruins my birthday present, then.” He teased weakly, looking up at him. He was sitting in an awkward position, half in his chair, half on the bed, but he didn’t want to leave Seb alone. “Guess I’ll have to think of something else to surprise you.”

At Seb’s speech, he gave up, climbing entirely into the bed, curling up next to his torso, his feet just dangling off the bed. “And I’ve shot you twice, both times meaning to kill you.” He whispered, his hand tightening around Seb’s. “I wish I was like you, Basty. I wish I didn’t feel the need to shoot you every so often. Because you never deserve it. It’s never your fault, Bas. And it’s always mine.” For a moment, he feared he would cry again, but at Seb’s next statement, all tears vanished from his face.

For a moment, Jim grew very very still and very very cold. “Sebby…” His voice was the maniac’s voice again, not numb, but chilling and so very full of terror. “I want you to tell me who each and every one of those people were, and then I am going to kill them.”

Sebastian chuckled a little. “I know it does, boss. Makes me nervous too. That’s one of the reasons I stayed at the club.”

“Jim I can’t hate you. I tried. Really I did. For a whole year, I tried to make myself forget you, but I couldn’t. You know how hard that was for me to accept? That I couldn’t just let you go?” he asked, rubbing Jim’s back, and breathing slow. When Jim mentioned marriage, he grinned. “I didn’t mean I was closed to the idea. I just meant my manager and I made an awful couple. I’m not adverse to marriage if the other person can deal with me on a regular basis. And you don’t have to miss me anymore. I’m not ever leaving again.”

Jim sighed, and finally climbed into the hospital bed with him, and Seb masked a grin. “Boss, I don’t care what you do to me. I don’t know, but even when you hurt me, i know it’s because you care, at least a little bit. The shooting to kill me thing probably ought to stop though,” he gave a weak chuckle, and pulled him in tighter to his body.

Seb felt him stiffen next to him, and braced himself. Jim’s cold voice echoed in his ears. “Boss, I wasn’t working for you then. And.. I volunteered for most of those kinds of jobs, so the other boys didn’t have to, because I knew I could take it. I needed it. I needed the pain. And… There was only one time it didn’t work out, and I will gladly give you those names,” he said, remembering the men who’d raped him. He would gladly watch them burn. But the rest of them didn’t deserve it, even though Jim might think they did. They’d been part of his work, nothing more. Seb had known what he was getting into when he took the job.

“You can’t forget about me?” Jim’s voice tightened into a grim laugh as he burrowed next to Seb, his face somewhere against his chest. “You can’t forget about me and that’s your curse? Oh, Basty, would you like to trade?” He whispered, but as he was laughing, more tears were falling down his face. “I can forget you. I forgot about you.” His voice broke several times as he was pulled into that time, the time he wanted to forget so badly, so very very badly. “It was so easy. I just forgot everything about you by not thinking about you. And I hated it. I hate it. I don’t…” He was crying then, sobbing directly into Seb’s chest, pulling the man closer to him. “It’s not just when I’m like that. I can hate you and fall back in love with you in a single conversation.” His eyes shut as he told himself, inwardly, to pull back his tears. “That’s why…when I say I love you, Seb…I mean, I love you as far as I am capable of loving you.”

“If I shoot you…” Jim avoided the cautious laugh, his face serious and stern as he looked up towards his lover. “You shoot me. No questions, Basty, consider it my dying wish. I know now you can make yourself numb, however much you hate it, and you are certainly capable of killing me. You do it, Seb. It’s an order and, considering I just put a hit on myself, that’s still under my jurisdiction of owning you.”

He avoided the tender subject of marriage, feeling his brow crease slightly. A man like him? Either way, it was certainly not a topic to discuss now. Killing people was much more Jim’s style. “Sebastian. Don’t argue with me. I’m killing anyone who hurts you. Maybe that be a punch to a face, a fucking, or a shot to the thigh. But you won’t shoot me. So we’re at an impasse.” He shook his head. “Either way. They’re dead. Even if I have to go around you to do it.” His eyes immediately flashed to that scar, his hand rubbing against it again. “Basty.” He said simply, looking up at him and tracing over the scar. What happened?

“Jim. That’s all I want from you. To know that even when you forget about me, you’ll come back to me. Just….just don’t shut me out like that again.” Seb knew that Jim was nearly incapable of true unchanging love. But Seb didn’t want that. He wanted Jim, however he could keep him, whether it was by love or by blood. That was the mystery of Sebastian Moran.

“Fine. If you shoot me, to kill, then I will shoot you. But only with my dying breath. That’s my condition,” Seb swore to him. “I don’t fucking care if it’s an order. I will choose what to do with my dying breath. Now,” he said, looking up at the ceiling. “Stop talking about killing me, and let me live for a little while.”

“They didn’t hurt me to hurt me. They hurt me because it was a turn on, Jim. That’s what I did. I let people hurt me, to numb me.” Seb said it quickly, trying not to think about every time someone had hurt him, he’d tried to pretend it was Jim, so that he didn’t try to kill the person hurting him for their own pleasure.

He huffed a sigh, as Jim asked once again about his scar. “Rape. Four of them. Didn’t take no for an answer.” He said it quickly, making it small, closing his eyes so he didn’t have to watch Jim’s reaction.

“I will, Sebby, even if it’s to point a gun in your face, I will.” Jim promised, realizing that most people would be able to promise their lover more than that. Jim didn’t care. He knew he was awful for thinking so, but he was fairly sure it was established that Jim was a monster. Seb would stay and that was all that mattered, in the end. Jim didn’t have to change, at least, not today.

“Fine.” Jim snapped at him, his hand running down to grab Sebsatian’s again. “We talk about death all day, Sebby, you know that.” His tone became sweeter as he reached up to kiss him again. “Get better so I can take you home and fuck you, if you want to live so much.” Chuckling again, as if it were a joke, he pulled his feet up onto the bed and intertwined them with Basty’s.

“I don’t care if they hurt you to hurt you or hurt you for pleasure or hurt you to make their own lives a little less pitiful.” Jim hissed, feeling a bit of his heart break when he heard Seb’s explanation. “Don’t say things like that. Please. It’s hard enough to think of what I…just..I’d rather like to believe you did it for the money and for nothing else, not to numb you or to intentionally cause pain on yourself.” 

As he saw Seb’s eyes close, he paused for another moment, waiting until Seb would surely wonder what was going on. Then, he raised his hand and placed it on Seb’s shoulder, driving his nails down into the man’s skin as he skidded across it, leaving three neat lines of blood. It was a simple gesture. Mine. Only mine. “They hurt my tiger.” His voice contained a concealed rage, and one might wonder if it was a more personal than Jim would like to say. Either way, that story was not to be told now. “I’ll get them for you, Sebby. They’ll be tortured for months, until the only thing they can remember is what they did to you and God, they’ll be sorry, so sorry-” He choked himself off, feeling his hands start to shake. “Then I’ll kill them. Not as soon as I find them. That’s too good for them. I’ll end them, Basty.” Again, he leaned up to kiss Seb’s lips, but he was gentle this time, too gentle with him, and as he leaned away, he realized he was crying again, hot, bitter tears.

“I know, Jim,” said Seb tiredly. “And I can only get better as my body allows me too. I’ll force it to get better faster if you really want me that much,” he said with a smirk, letting Jim tuck himself in next to him, and kissing him back as he reached out to him. The threats weren’t empty that Jim was making, and Sebastian knew that all too well. But somehow, he didn’t mind. He probably should be institutionalized for that kind of behavior, letting Jim beat on him, but he didn’t mind. It was the way Jim showed affection.

“Fine. I did it for the money,” Seb sighed, knowing that it was mostly true. He could take it, where other men couldn’t. He needed that rush to make his time worth while… the occasional broken finger or bruised thigh didn’t matter to him. But it mattered to Jim.

As Jim proved when he scratched his nails down Seb’s shoulder. Seb nearly cried out, but then he remembered he was in a hospital, and they’d try to throw Jim out. Seb reached over and grabbed Jim’s wrist. “You forget where you are, Jim,” he hissed at him. “Possessive is fine, but if you get thrown out of here because of me and what happened, I’ll kill you.” Then he noticed Jim was shaking, and he calmed himself. “I will tell you who they were, as soon as we get out of here. The nurse told me I’ll need to stay overnight, but then we can go… home,” Seb said, thinking to the house in the county. He kissed Jim back, releasing his wrist to cup his face just as gently. Then he released him and tucked him in next to him, wiping the hot tears from his face. “It’s good to see you care again, Boss,” he said gruffly, smiling down at him, and holding him tightly to him.

“Yes.” Jim said simply, his hand brushing across his wound again. “I don’t like seeing you here, Bas.” He breathed in Seb again, becoming calm. You can’t work yourself up. Not while Seb’s here with a gunshot wound to worry over. Kill them later. Make them suffer later. Right now? You haven’t seen Sebby in a year and he’s here now. “I missed you.” He repeated, his hands tightening around Seb’s torso. Don’t let anyone ruin this. Please. 

“Still not happy, but that’s better.” The fact that Seb had returned there at all angered Jim to the point where he could feel his blood boil in his veins. He wanted to hurt people, that building, but frighteningly enough, he wanted to hurt Seb. Just to find someone to take it out on. But as he clutched the man to him, feeling his heartbeat resound against his head, he couldn’t bring himself to snap.’

His hand wriggled against Seb’s grasp, and he shook his head. “Don’t care. I’d kill them before they could.” As if to prove a point, he reached into his pocket and pulled out yet another one of his hidden knives. “Was originally supposed to kill ‘im with this. Changed my mind at the last second. Unfortunately.” His eyelids fluttered and he realized, with a chuckle, that he was tired. He wanted nothing more to just curl up next to Seb and sleep until they could both go home. “Soon as we go…” He yawned, pressing his forehead against Seb’s. “You’re telling me and I am hunting them down and killing them like the vermin they are. But now?…I’m tired, sweet.”

Jim’s words were like sweets to Seb, and he smiled and pulled him closer. “I missed you too Boss, more than you’ll ever care to know.” Suddenly a flashback of their other reunion flashed through Seb’s mind. How he wished none of this had happened. He felt as if they’d be forever hurt by the past year, that Jim nor himself would ever be quite the same.

Jim revealed the weapons he still had on his person, and Seb stiffened just a little. If he was caught with those, the whole thing could fall apart. “Jim, put those away,” he said coldly. He loved that Jim was so prepared, but this was not the place to start planning the demise of the people who’d hurt him over the past year. With Jim like this, Seb hated being in the open. He didn’t like the possibility of someone coming in who could recognise Jim. Seb at least was still a relative unknown to people who’d dealt with Jim Moriarty in the past, but Jim was extremely recognisable. Probably even more so, depending on exactly what he’d been up to over the past year.

Jim yawned and pressed his head against Seb’s, and Sebastian sighed in relative contentedness. Good, Jim was tired. That meant he could stop resisting the urge to yawn and give into the painkillers the doctors still had him on. “Go to sleep Boss,” he said softly, giving his lover a gentler than usual kiss. “I’ll keep an eye out. I’ll be fine.” He grabbed Jim’s hand, and drew it up to his chest, where he covered it with his own. “Missed you, Jim,” he murmured, as Jim’s breathing slowed to a relaxed pace and his boss’s eyes closed. As he looked down at Jim’s sleeping face, a normal person would never be able to tell that this was the mastermind of the criminal world, an expert in torture and thievery. He waited until he was sure Jim was asleep and then murmured,”I love you.” Then he too gave into fatigue.

“I do care to know.” Jim murmured, his eyes already shut. “I always care to know.” He could feel his heart start to mend itself, especially as he could feel Seb around him. This was hard, too hard. He almost wanted to go back to the lonely numbness, where his biggest worry was that the next captive would attract attention before he could kill him. Now, as he pressed his lips against Seb’s one last time, he had this lug to worry about. This asshole. This perfect human being.

At Seb’s coldness at the knife, Jim couldn’t help but chuckle and open his eyes a crack. “You’re delicious when you try to order me about, Sebby. Don’t worry. I always have a plan, you know. Always.” He patted Seb’s cheek patronizingly for a moment, smiling inwardly. Seb’s such a dear. He’s got to trust me a little bit more, though. I do have a plan for everything, just…not when he’s involved. Jim, the minute he walked in, had formulated seven different plans for his escape. Sometimes he feel as if people forgot that he was more clever than Sherlock, that he could escape any situation, however desperate. By himself.

“Can keep an eye on myself, thanks. It’s you who needs worrying over.” Jim yawned, his head falling on Seb’s chest again. It didn’t go back up and Jim smiled sleepily, feeling like a lovesick fool. Perhaps he was. “Always the one who needs worrying over…” He murmured, only half-intelligible. “Missed you too.” Again, his words slurred slightly in his half sleep state. Soon, however, he gave in, feeling the world become just a little bit darker as he drifted into a deep sleep.

Sebastian let Jim have the last words, figuring that he’d have enough time to argue over all this pettiness later, once Sebastian was released from the hospital.


	4. Home Again, Home Again, The Tiger's in the Basement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian comes home, and Jim stops arguing for once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, after three chapters, there is sex. MorMor sex, specifically, and it was a riot to write. BUT IT IS MORMOR SEX AND THEREFORE VERY VIOLENT AND GRAPHIC. So. There.

“Okay, that’s all we need from you Mr. Winchester,” said the bubbly nurse at the front desk. Sebastian hadn’t wanted the wheelchair, but he figured it made him look more average, and with the police swarming the strip club, which he’d seen on the morning news, they needed all the average they could get. “Sam, let’s go home?” Seb asked plaintively, looking up at Jim, who was still playing the part of the worried boyfriend, even though behind those caring eyes, Seb could see the plotting and the danger of the world he was returning to. He knew he’d be fighting for every inch in this relationship, and he loved the thrill of knowing that.

He held Jim’s hand as the shorter man pushed him out of the hospital and into the waiting cab.

Jim had curled his smile at the wheelchair, having far too much pleasure pushing Seb in it. He had woken that morning still deliriously happy, and with a dim connection, he realized that was the first night he had spent with Sebby in…oh, two, three years? The one where he had woken up with him, still him, next to him. God. It was great. He bent down, relishing that Seb was shorter than him, giving him a kiss on his temple as he pushed them into the waiting room. “Of course, Seth.”

His ‘worried boyfriend’ was going more to ‘relieved but testy boyfriend’ as he waited, anxiously, throughout all the doctors. The doctors determining whether or not his lover could go home. Jim had half a mind to take him home anyway, but he figured that would cause a bit of a public scandal. And he couldn’t cause that yet. Just yet.

“Let’s go home.” He murmured, his character slipping slightly. Already he was planning, plotting, a thousand things and yet only one. His blood still boiled with the fact that people had hurt Seb. Hurt him, and especially in that way, which Jim was too familiar with. Too familiar. Not that Seb would know, he thought to himself. Ever. He pushed him into the cab, climbing in after him gently and putting a hand on his knee. “Bast. Names.”

Sebastian rolled his eyes. “Not even giving me time to breathe? Fine,” he said, grabbing his pack, and sorting through it. He found his small wallet, and pulled out the slip of paper the men who’d raped him had signed for their tab. He’d bullied the bartender into giving it to him, so that one day, should he ever get out of the club, he could hunt them down himself. “Here’s the men who did it.” He sighed and put his pack back together, and then stretched out his leg, wincing. “Fuck, I hate this,” he said, fisting his hand against his side.

“So are we going back to the house? Or… to my shit flat, to get my things?”

“Not on this, Basty.” Jim murmured, taking the slip and glancing over the list of names. Dead men. No. Not dead, not yet, not until they pay for hurting my pet. He placed it in his jacket pocket, tapping his chest as he did so. Sebby’s not going to help. I’m doing it by myself. And I’ll…I’ll…He was suddenly broken from his thoughts by Sebastian’s curse, and he reached over to brush his leg slightly. His hand grabbed Seb’s fist and he kissed it lightly, giving it only a light nip before he dropped it. “Because I love it when you’re injured, Seb.”

“While I would love to get you back at the house…” He murmured, his eyes looking the man up and down, “We should probably tie up loose ends, yes? Do you feel up for gathering your things, or do you want to sit in the car while Daddy takes care of it?”

Seb looked at Jim, lost in thought, already plotting the demise of the men who’d done this to him, no doubt. He flinched a little as Jim brushed his wound and then kissed and bit his hand. “You do seem to get some sort of thrill out of it,” Seb said sardonically, rolling his eyes a little and looked out the window.

Seb gave him a smirk as he watched Jim ogle him. Even injured like he was, somehow he still wanted to jump Seb’s bones, and Seb liked to see that lust in his eyes. “I can do it, Jim. I’m not completely helpless. You’d never stay with me otherwise,” he said, writing down the address of the flat he’d been staying in, and handed it to the cabbie. Then he took Jim’s hand in his own, for no other reason than to have something of his to hold onto.

“It’s not thrill, Basty.” Jim murmured, still slightly distracted, probabilities and numbers and names and devices running through his head. “Determination, maybe, but not a thrill. Yet.” He looked over at Seb, giving a reassuring smile, before returning back to his thinking for a while. But just for a little while, until he heard the cabbie and Seb have a brief communication. Go to the flat, pick up things, go home, shag, terrorize and torture. Good.

“Damn right I wouldn’t.” Jim murmured, leaning over to peck at Seb’s temple. “I picked you because you could take care of yourself. Didn’t come crying to me every time a mission went wrong. Start crying to me about it and I will end your life.” He watched for a while, silently out the window, before he realized that Seb had taken Jim’s hand. “Feeling lonely, Bast?” He teased, squeezing back tightly before they approached a shoddy row of flats. “Jesus, Basty. This?”

Seb leaned away from Jim’s kiss. “How reassuring, Jim,” he said quietly. He watched Jim for a little while, lost in his own mind, and then out road that led to the familiar and hated block of flats he lived in. “Yes. And yes, again. This is where I slept and ate when I wasn’t at the club,” he said, the lack of emotion in his voice telling Jim all he needed to know. The cab pulled up to the curb, and Seb told him to wait before climbing our of the back of the vehicle, and pulled out the cane that had been given to him at the hospital. “Fucking weak,” he chastised himself, and leaned on it only enough to barely support him. He lead Jim into the building, and to his small dingy flat.

Jim felt another round of guilt rack his brain as they moved up to the flat. “I’m sorry, Bas.” He murmured quietly, his hand squeezing Seb’s tightly as they pulled up. Almost apologetically, he kissed Seb’s hand again, before getting out of the car. “It’s not weak.” He said to him, giving his leg a painful poke. “You need it.”

As they walked into the flat, Jim was surprised by how…similar it was to his own home. Bottles everywhere. Weapons everywhere, bulletholes everywhere…he looked at Sebby sadly. “What do you want to take? I still have your rifle, at home, so…”

“I don’t need your pity, Jim,” said Seb gruffly, appreciating the tight grip Jim had on his hand. He grimaced when Jim poke his wounded leg. “Fuck you,” he said glaring at him. It wasn’t enough that he’d shot him again in the first place, but he had to keep prodding him and poking him. Coming back here had put Sebastian in a fouler than usual mood, and unfortunately, Jim would be taking the brunt of it.

Seb unlocked the door, thankful that he didn’t live on the second floor like he’d been planning to do, and winced at the state of things. He was no better than Jim, and the mess he’d left proved it. He muttered curses to himself as Jim gave him a sad look, and gritted his teeth and started picking a few things here and there. Some clothes he’d bought. The handgun he’d kept with him. A few odds and ends, weapons that he didn’t want anyone else to find and keep for themselves. He threw them into his pack that he’d taken from Jim’s home a year before and hauled it onto his back. “We can go now,” he said, taking a last look around the place.

What little pity Jim had for Seb left at the glare, and he gave him a shove as he moved about the flat. He didn’t particularly care if Seb wanted him to see his flat, but he snooped anyway, going through drawers and dressers. It didn’t seem wrong to him. It wasn’t uncommon for Jim to go through Seb’s things back at home, and it certainly wasn’t going to change her. Jim sucked in his cheeks at some of the things he found, and gritted his teeth at others. “Don’t want my pity? You won’t have it.” Jim finally replied, moving back to join his lover in the same room. “You could have lived somewhere better.”

He grasped Seb’s hand again, taking the pack from him. “Argue and I’m leaving you here.” He hissed into his ear, slinging the bag over his back. It wasn’t too heavy, Jim told himself, but he could feel it weigh down on him. Dammit. Why am I such a nice person? As Seb looked around, Jim felt another pain in his gut. My fault. All my fault. Slowly, he opened the door and sighed. “Come on.”

Seb rolled his eyes as Jim went through his things. Most of his personal belongings were already in his pack, in case of a quick get-away anyway, so Jim wouldn’t find much. “I didn’t want to live anywhere better. Didn’t want comfort,” he said simply.

Seb managed a snarky grin when Jim hoisted his pack onto his smaller body. “Fine I won’t argue. Change of pace, this,” he said, grinning as Jim glanced back at him, the bag obviously weighing him down. “You sure you don’t want me to carry the weight, Boss?” he asked, following him out of the flat and into the waiting cab. He hoped Jim wasn’t beating himself up too much, but he knew that was an empty hope. Jim didn’t do things half-arsed. He was full force, and no matter what he did, whether it was a murder, or torture, or a pity party, he threw all of himself into it.

“That’s because even being more like me than you ever were, you were still stupid.” Jim murmured, squeezing at Seb’s hand again. He didn’t mind the weight after a while, although it weighed down on him. Either way, there was no fucking way he would admit to Seb that the thing was too heavy for him. “I’m fine, Sebby.” He snarled, giving him a light shove. I’m guilty. Jesus, this is guilt. His heart felt like it was eating itself up, and he opened the cab door. “Get the fuck in, git.”

Seb squeezed Jim’s hand back, grateful that he wasn’t too mad about the little blow up there in the room. The insults hurt, but they were the normal fare he got from Jim, so it was a bit of normality that kept into Seb’s heart instead of annoyance. “Sure you are Boss,” he said, climbing into the cab and taking the bag from Jim, and at a look he rolled his eyes. “I’m just getting it off of you so you can fucking sit, alright? Jesus, give me some credit.” he put the pack down on the ground and grabbed Jim’s hand again once he got into the cab and closed the door. “Where to next, Boss?” he asked.

Jim snarled as Seb grabbed the bag, pouting at him as he placed it. “Basty. Jesus, for once in your life, stop being a smartass.” He scratched at Seb’s hand, his eyes wandering down to his wound. Give me some credit, Sebby. I know the difference between asserting my dominance and abuse of it. Most times. Resisting the urge to brush across Seb’s leg, he leaned over to give him a slow kiss. It was unusually gentle, but Jim made sure at the last second to give Seb another cut. Couldn’t change too much. “You’re the one with the busted leg, Basty. Do you want to return home?”

“Can’t help it, Boss. It’s who I am. Beside, how the fuck else am I supposed to keep up with you otherwise?” he asked smarmily. He saw Jim look at his leg, and instantly got defensive again, but then calmed at bit as Jim kissed him, far gentler than he usually did. He kissed him back, and then grinned as Jim bit him again. Ever the same he was… couldn’t just be nice, no, he had to hurt you somehow. “Yes. I think we should. I just didn’t know if home was home anymore, or if you’d moved on to a new place.”

“You still keep up with me only occasionally, but it’s nice to see you try.” He smiled at him warmly, giving him a playful shove. Of course I have to hurt you, Sebby. It’s how I show that I care. And God, I care. I care way too much. “Home’s still…home, yes. In retrospect, I probably should have moved. Would’ve helped with the, er, memories.” He gulped slightly, leaning his head to Seb’s shoulder. “Didn’t though. For practical reasons. Too much information, too much already in place just to move out. It’s hard to soundproof a basement, Sebby. Didn’t want to have to go through that process again.”

“And you always make it more difficult when I get closer,” he said to him, grinning at the playful tone in his voice. He pulled him to him and nipped at his ear, before pulling away again. “Understandable.” He sighed a little at the idea of Jim being miserable as well. “Yes, well, it’s easier too. And now hopefully, we can get rid of those bloody fucking memories. I don’t want to hear more about it, Boss. We’re together again, for now, and let’s just…. ” Seb hugged him a little closer to himself. “Let’s just try to enjoy it. In our own way. I’m fucking tired of running.”

“Still love me for it,” Jim snapped back, feeling the nip at his ear. He returned the favor, leaning into Seb as they drove along. Even with a wound in his thigh, even with all he’s gone through, he’s still protecting me. “Okay, Basty.” His voice dropped a few tones, as he murmured, “It’ll come back, though. It always does. I hate it, Sebby.” Jim turned his head into Seb’s chest, breathing in before kissing him. “Don’t say for now, Basty. We’re together again forever. If I have anything to say about it.” The houses sped past them, and he had no doubt the cabbie was just a little bit uncomfortable, but Jim didn’t care. He couldn’t bring himself to care. “We’re not going to run, Basty, not from each other. Not anymore. You’re stuck with me now, whether you like it or not.”

“Yes, I do,” said Sebastian, low in his tone, low enough that it was hard for anyone to hear, unless they were listening for it. He pulled Jim closer to him when his tone dropped, the emotion making itself known far more obviously than Jim ever let it. He sighed a little and then let Jim kiss him, giving him everything that Jim gave him in equal amounts. He gave Jim a small smile as Jim told him that he was stuck with him. He couldn’t imagine a better existence, ever. “I think I can deal with that without too many problems,” he said in a mock-thought-provoking way, before turning to Jim and kissing him hard on the lips, giving him his answer in actions instead of words. He would be the happiest man on the planet if he was stuck with Jim forever, and he didn’t care that the cabbie was giving them strange looks, or that his leg throbbed, or that they were no way in a place where they could get it on, and yet he moaned into the sofa, severely turned on.

He snuggled into Seb, nuzzling into his chest, his neck, his face. “I think that might be a rather enjoyable lifetime too. Granted, God only knows how long my lifetime will be.” Jim wondered, kissing Seb back with equal fervor, pushing Seb’s back until it hit the head of the sofa. And then some. “You…” He began again, before wrapping both of his arms around him, squeezing tightly, too tightly. But then again, nothing about Jim was ever gentle. “You.” He ended, sucking at his skin, watching in wonder as small bruises appeared, and smirking at his groan. Pushing his face across Seb’s chest so that it faced the cabbie, he had a very distinct, very serious train of thought. Can I kill him so I can have Seb here? No, no, the cab will be stopped and there will be attention. Dammit. He turned back towards Seb, his hand quietly slipping down the front of his pants for a moment, playing with him for another, and sliding back up his abdomen on the third. “Public place, Sebby. Sssh.

“Don’t you fucking dare talk like that, Boss. I’m tired of having to live without you, and I’ll be the happiest bastard in the world if I never have to think about you dead and gone again,” Sebastian said coldly, wrapping a hand tightly around Jim’s neck so he was forced to look at him. He kissed him back just as hard, pushing back every step of the way. Then Jim’s mouth left his and sucked at his neck and he bit back a groan, his need growing by the second in leaps and bounds. Jim leaned down and looked as if he might try to blow Seb there in the cab, but instead he merely slid his hands into Sebastian’s trousers and groped in and then trailed up his stomach. Sebastian looked ahead and saw that they were only a few miles from the house, and he smirked at Jim’s lustfully playful gaze, and kissed him again before muttering huskily in his ear. “Not for much longer.” His own hand slipped down and covered Jim’s hardness through his trousers and grasped him hard and he grinned at the look on Jim’s face, before he pulled away.

“Such a blind man, Basty…” Jim crooned sadly, his hand shooting up to scratch across Seb’s face. “Such a blind man.” He shook his head, his hand inching back down his stomach to pull at his erection, feeling his fingers nip across the tip. “Saw that look, Sebby. Not going to suck you off here in the cab, tiger. Then how would I see your beautiful face?” It was a slight tease, his other hand tracing across the light scratches Jim had given him on his cheek. ”Good, good. My poor little tiger can handle the anticipation much longer, can he?” His hand still remained down Seb’s trousers, enjoying every little moan and groan he got out of him. At Seb’s fingers gripping him, he gave a moan and a gasp, biting at Seb’s shoulder. “Bastard!”

“Not blind Jim. For once I’m seeing just damn fine,” Seb said, and growled as Jim scratched his face. He couldn’t be angry for long, because Jim’s lithe fingers started to play with his erection again, and fucking hell it felt good. Seb didn’t know what he’d done without Jim’s knowing touch for a year, and he suddenly hated every single one of the patrons who’d tried to outdo each other in fucking Seb. “Your tiger is going to fuck you senseless right here in this cab if you don’t get your fucking hand out of my pants, Jim,” muttered Seb as he groped Jim’s hardness again. “Give and take Boss,” he said, growling a little as Jim bit his shoulder.

The cab pulled up, and the seemingly relieved cabbie pulled away almost as soon as Jim and Seb had gotten out of the car with Seb’s pack still on Jim’s shoulders. Sebastian was so determined to get Jim out of his dirty clothes and into his bed that his limp wasn’t pronounced much at all. He picked the lock in his hurry and held the door for Jim.

“You certainly don’t know how to punish, Basty, if fucking me senseless is your form of punishment.” Jim purred, moving his hand in long, sure strokes until they pulled up at the cab. Before he had gotten out of the car he had, as always, being a tease, shove Seb hard against the back of the seat and shoved his tongue in his mouth, both of his hands grabbing at his neck seriously. I love you. I love you I love you I love you.

Jim struggled out of the cab, feeling the weight of the pack even more but disregarding it. Seb was just so cute when he wanted to be fucked. Taking his damn sweet time, he ducked under Sebby’s arm to enter the house, gently setting the pack on the couch. “Now, what was that about fucking, Sebby?”

“Making me wait is the punishment, you git,” Seb muttered as Jim kissed him hard across the mouth, pushing him against the seat, and he kissed him back just as urgently, biting down on his lip, not letting him have control for a second longer than he had to.

Seb glared at Jim as he took his own sweet fucking time getting into the house and putting the pack down. As soon as he’d turned around with a cheeky look on his face, Sebastian was on him, kissing and biting at his mouth again, and pulling his arse hard towards him to grind their groins together. His injury nearly forgotten now, he lifted Jim up and wrapped Jim’s legs around his waist, devouring his neck and shoulder as he stalked to what used to be their bedroom. He barely noticed the wreck that Jim had made of the house, the progress he’d made a year before completely gone.

“You’ve waited for a long time, haven’t you?” Jim crooned, his hands dancing across the veins of Seb’s neck. He could already feel the blood swishing around in his mouth, and he couldn’t believe how much he goddamn loved it. Just loved it to hell and back. How much he had missed it. 

But it was even better when Seb grabbed him, when Seb’s hands were all over him, their groins pressed together as Jim moaned into his neck. While he was wrapped around Sebby, his hips thrusting with an insistent impatience every second, he remembered his injury. His hands danced down to the wound, murmuring an uncharacteristically careful, “Wound, Sebby,” before landing on the bed. The wreck didn’t notice him. His messy bedroom didn’t notice him. “Come over here, Sebby, I think I’d like to fuck you.”

“Far too long,” Seb muttered. He could feel the bites that Jim would give him already, and suddenly he wanted nothing more to have Jim scratch him, bite him, cut him, mark him as his own again. He wanted no reminders of the past year left on his body. He wanted Jim to claim him and own him again.

Jim thrust up against him as he walked, and he was tempted just to have him against the wall, turn him around and pound into him, but his desire to be owned by Jim far outstretched his desire to just fuck Jim. As Jim played with his wound, he groaned, and growled at him, secretly pleased that Jim wanted him to heed his injury. Personal protection wasn’t really high on Jim’s priority list, usually, so it was an interesting change. At Jim’s statement, he grinned and climbed onto the bed, and laid on his back. “Not sure, are you?” he asked cheekily.

He had gotten on his knees on the bed, placing his arms around Sebby and pulling him backwards onto him. Squirming underneath the larger man, he crawled on top of him, biting and nipping everywhere that was in his area. Sebby belongs to me. He hasn’t belonged to me in so damn long. So damn long. I need him. I need him too much. 

Thrusting against him again, not in the mood for his silly childish games he played with him, he muttered against his cheek, “Ask me that again, would you?” He teased, one thumb hooked in the waistband of Seb’s shorts. Mine. Mineminemineminemineminemine. He pressed his mouth against Seb’s again, searing him, biting into his tongue and every part of his mouth that he could.

Jim’s mouth seemed to be everywhere at once, and his hands roamed his torso, pinching and pulling, biting and nipping, and licking, and Sebastian let him, moaning his pleasure at the pain that Jim was causing him. Take me, I’m yours, mark me, own me, please Jim, it’s been too fucking long, and I need you more than I need air, just abuse me, I’m yours.

He rutted against Jim’s groin, and kissed him back just as greedily, smiling as the blood spilled into their mouths from all the bites and nips that they were giving each other.

“Fuck me, Jim,” he murmured against his lips, “if you really want to.”

Jim gave an echoing groan to him, pulling away from his mouth for a second and just staring at the man. If this had been anyone but Seb, he would’ve called the expression on his face pathetic. But it was an incredible turn-on for him. This man wanted to be owned, wanted to be dominated. And while he may have been a rebellious asshole, Jim owned him.

Quickly his fingers slid both of their pants down and he thrusted quickly, his hands now going over his chest. Slyly, he bent down to the approximate location where Seb’s heart was and bit down roughly, licking at him. Goodgoodtoogood. “You’re a fucking bastard, Sebby…” Jim crooned, grabbing his hips and dragging them together.

Seb lay under Jim’s stare and thought to himself trying to figure out how he’d come to this place, to be with this man, how he’d become so willing to be dominated by one man. He didn’t care what anyone else though of him, all that mattered was Jim and that he owned him, fully and completely.

He lifted his hips up so that Jim could slid their trousers and shorts off, moaning a little as Jim’s hands traced his muscles and thrust up against him. Jim bit his chest over his heart, and he hissed, the pain as pleasure in his mind. “Fuck, Jim,” he muttered, as Jim pulled him closer and he ached for Jim to fill him. “I’m your fucking bastard, Jim,” he said with a grin, before pulling his lips to his once again and kissing him hard, biting down on his lip.

“Are you, now?” Jim growled, his hand scuttling around the sheets until he brought out a knife, seeing it gleam and catch the light for a moment. His heart was thudding now, and he knew that if he were a weaker man he would pass out. His damn heart wasn’t made to feel things like this. Still, he pressed his lips to Seb, snarling at him but making no intelligible words. The knife snaked between them, until Jim found the area over where Seb’s heart would be. 

It was a thin cut, in retrospect, but it was more symbolic than painful. A large X was carved where Seb’s heart would be, two straight lines, then in a ragged cut next to them, he carved a small JM. It wasn’t deep, but it would scar enough for Seb to notice. And if they faded? He would simply carve them again. He dropped the knife next to them, his voice, lusty and demanding, appeared next to Seb’s ear. “In me. Now.”

“Yes, yours,” Sebastian said, staring at the knife with a smile on his face. He kissed Jim back eagerly, snarling back at him, and nipping his lip, feeling the knife go between them, This is what he’d missed, the unbelievable incredible feeling of danger when he was with Jim. The feeling that his life could be over at any moment, but he’d die at the hands of someone who almost cared for him, in his own odd way.

He groaned at the first cut, feeling the knife slice into him, the shape of the X making him grin widely. X marks the spot, he thought to himself, as he pressed up against him. Then he felt letters being carved into his chest, J and M…. he was marked now, forever, and if they faded, he’d carve them back into his flesh as a reminder that he was Jim’s, wholly.

Sebastian didn’t need to be told twice. He flipped them over without a word, and kissed Jim hard on the mouth, trailing bites and hot open mouthed kisses to his jaw and neck, and with a single movement, shoved into him, crying out silently into his mouth, feeling as if he was finally home. His blood dripped between them, and intermingled between them, and as he thrust into him again, he leaned down at licked his blood off of Jim’s chest, before coming back to kiss him again.

Jim picked up the knife again. It was so much easier to make that delightful blood come leaking out of Sebby with a knife than his fingernails, which had been worn down to the quick. “Oh…oh…oh…” He groaned, feeling Sebastian everywhere. This is what he needed. This is what he craved, positively needed. Once or twice he traced the handle of the knife along the X and his initials carved into the skin. This man was his, how much he hated it and how much he loved it. And perhaps, a little part…

Oh, God, Seb was in him again. “Oh, Christ.” He cried out into the pillow, writhing underneath him and moaning into his mouth. It had been so damn long since he had felt this, and it made him all the more angry knowing there were other people who had had this pleasure, had this privilege, of being with him like this. He thrust back up behind him, his fingernails clawing into Seb’s arm and the knife lying forgotten on the pillow.

But only forgotten for a moment. Fingers shaking, he reached over and grabbed it, bringing it close to him. Quickly and raggedly, he brought the knife to his chest. It was a myriad of small, quick movements, but at last, the cuts ‘SM’ were carved into his skin and bleeding lightly. “Yours.”

Jim’s moans and groans of pleasure were absolute music to Seb’s ears and he pushed into him again, even as Jim traced the carvings on his chest, making them bleed more, little starbursts of pain enhancing the pleasure coursing through both of them. He clawed him as he thrust, as Sebastian knew he was marking him more, reminding him that all those people were nothing, that he was owned by Jim, that those people had touched what was Jim’s and he had to reclaim him. Seb rolled his hips over Jim’s, grinning as he elicited another cry from Jim.

He noticed Jim reach for the knife that he’d dropped at the first thrust, and gazed at him as he brought it to his chest. He growled as he cut himself, but then it became a growl of pleasure when he saw what he was carving. He leaned down and licked up Jim’s blood, grinning as the S.M. became far more visible as he laved it with his rough tongue. “You are mine Jim. Mine,” he said, punctuating the words with several hard deep thrusts, hitting his prostate, over and over, as he licked up his chest and neck, sucking at the skin, and leaving red marks wherever he went.

The pleasure was almost too much. Jim squeezed his eyes shut, crying out into the pillow, grasping the handle of the knife and shoving it, blade down, into the bed. Not for the first time nor the last, he thought about all those people who had Seb, all the people who had touched his property, and all the people who had stupidly thought that, even for a moment, Seb was theirs. As if that wasn’t obvious from the numerous cuts and slashes now lining Seb’s body, not to mention his initials still bleeding from his chest.

He leaned forward, trying to control himself and to make the pleasure last, before licking up the blood from Seb’s cut. “Yes…” Jim hissed back at him, and there was a stab of hatred, right then. Jim belonged to no one. But this man…this man owned him. Owned him so totally and completely that Jim knew he couldn’t survive without him. “Bastard.” At the next hiss, he squeezed Seb’s arse as he thrusted, pushing him closer.

Jim gasped and cried out, burying his face in the pillow, which annoyed Seb. If he wasn’t allowed to be quiet, then why the hell did Jim think he had the right to be quiet? He grabbed the knife from Jim’s hand and cut a jagged heart into Jim’s skin next to his initials.

“Mine,” he growled again, shoving into him, hitting his prostate again. Then he pulled his lover’s leg up over his shoulder, and angled himself for a deeper thrust, marking him all over with his hands, and his teeth. “Your bastard, Boss,” he hissed back at him, groaning at the feel of Jim’s hands pulling his arse closer, deepening his own thrust.

At the feel of the knife on his chest, Jim’s head reared up, crying out again. This was different, wasn’t it? Seb usually had no qualms about hurting Jim during sex, but taking a knife to him was…different. He looked at Sebastian, snarling and snatching the knife away from him. Preparing to slash at him again, Sebastian hit his prostate with a particularly deep thrust and his breath left him in a rush as he dropped the knife. “You’re enjoying me being yours a bit too much, Basty, dear…” Jim managed to choke out, laughing patronizingly in Sebastian’s ear. I may be yours, but I am always better. Sorry. 

As it became harder and harder not to let go and finish all over Sebastian’s lovely body, he bit as hard as he could into Sebastian’s shoulder. He moaned, still keeping both hands on Sebastian’s arse as the man thrusted into him, trying to keep as much control as he was physically able.

Sebastian shoved the knife off the bed, licking up the blood from the heart shaped cut he’d made in Jim’s chest, as he shoved into him again and again, hitting his prostate every other time, drawing out the pleasure, with no less desperation at owning Jim and being owned by him. Jim laughed, and Sebastian thrusted into him harder and faster, causing the laugh to be cut off in a groan. I never wanted you own you as much as I do now, so forgive me if I don’t give a flying fuck, he thought, not dignifying Jim’s comment with a verbal answer.

He could tell that he was close to the edge, as was Seb himself, and as he bit his shoulder, he growled and angled deeper into him, putting a hand to his cock and stroking it just as hard, rubbing over the tip and under his balls, as he nipped Jim’s neck. “Come, you bastard,” he muttered, an order in his voice. He rarely gave orders, but he needed Jim to come now.

How had he given in so easily to this damned, ordinary, boring man? How had he gotten himself into this position, so willing, so eager to be dominated by him? “N-n-n-n-“ The negative was on Jim’s lips, and he was about ready to spit it back in Sebastian’s face. No one gave James Moriarty orders. Nobody in the world had that privilege. And for a true, honest moment, Jim hated Sebastian. He hated the feel of Sebastian’s dick inside him, hated the feel of his hands, hated the nips of his teeth. Hated that that was all it took to be dominated. “Hate you.” 

However, Jim came anyway, nearly choking Sebastian to death in the process. His entire body spasmed, and there was another wave of emotion GodI’vemissedthisI’vewantedthis. He sunk his teeth into Sebastian’s shoulder, growling with irritation and anger. “I love you so fucking much.”

Sebastian heard the curse growled at him, but he didn’t care, as he felt Jim’s hands tighten around his neck and then slacking as he came between then, spurts of cum hitting their chests where they touched, and Sebastian slammed into him again twice more before he came with a shout, as Jim bit his shoulder and muttered his love. “Fuck, Jim, I love you,” he groaned before pulling Jim’s mouth up to meet his in a harsh kiss, as he nipped and sucked his mouth, leaving a few marks on his jawline as well.

They lay there, entwined with each other, bleeding over each other, as they both thought about what had just happened. Sebastian spoke first, as he moved partial off of Jim. “Fuck, I missed you,” he said quietly, rubbing his fingers over the cuts on Jim’s cuts.

Jim marked Sebastian a few more times as he came, taking advantage of his tense muscles to leave a few throbbing cuts. “Missed you more.” He murmured, running his thumb over the large X on Sebastian’s heart cavity. “Missed you far, far more.” Quietly, he slipped off of Sebastian to snuggle under the crook of his arm. He intertwined their legs and wrapped his arms around him, his lips pressed to his shoulder. “And you’re not leaving again. Ever.”

His muscles were aching, his body was bleeding heavily from the cuts and marks Jim had left on him, and he was breathing hard, still coming down from his high. He let Jim move from under him and into his embrace, as Sebastian wrapped his arms around him, pulling him tightly against his bleeding body. His foot rubbed Jim’s as he smiled down at him. “Don’t worry boss. I’m not planning on leaving any time soon. I swear.”

“That makes it seem like you have a choice, Basty.” Jim purred, meeting Sebastian’s foot rub with a kick. “I’m afraid that you do not. But, I’m more than happy that you will not put up a fight in staying.” He gave Sebastian a slightly dopey smile, looking down at them. “I haven’t moved your room about much. Though I’m sure you’ll be staying in here again. At least, until you anger me. And then you can take the couch. Or stay in the basement with Bell.”

“One could always hope for a choice,” chuckled Seb, not worried at Jim’s show of dominance, but rather enjoying it. “Don’t much care where I stay. Anything’s better than that shite flat I was staying at,” he said, wincing at the kick he received for mentioning the club. “How is Bell, by the way? Growing like a giraffe, I’m sure,” he said, thinking of a large tiger cub roaming the halls of Jim’s country home, and the woods behind their house.


	5. Out of Timeline Telegram

The telegram came with the morning post to their house, and Sebastian barely looked up at the clatter at the door. Stormy barked twice and he could hear the growl of Bell from the yard in the back, and he half heartedly threw an empty canister in her direction. Slowly, he picked himself out of the chair, and walked to the door, crouching down to pick up the post, and saw the telegram amoungst the other letters and papers. It was marked from France, and the signature read J.M. and Sebastian felt his heart skip a few beats. But then it slowed as he read the few lines.

> My Bastian,
> 
> If you’ve received this telegram, it means that I’m either impossibly compromised, or possibly dead. Either way, it doesn’t much matter. I hope our child grows well in you, and that he or she will be strong for you, as you will have to be strong for him or her. No more sentiment, sniper.
> 
> _Always,_
> 
> _Your Jim._

The ache in his heart, and the hurt in his chest and empty womb grew, and with a wordless cry, he threw the telegram to the ground, and cried out to whoever could hear him with a soul-wrenching yell, as he fell to his knees.


End file.
